B    H    101    47T 


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THE  r 

LITTLE  WHITE   BIRD 

OR 

ADVENTURES    IN 
KENSINGTON    GARDENS 

BY 
J.    M.    BARRIE 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

MDCCCCXII 


Copyright,  1902,  by  Charles  Scribners  Sons 


Published,  November,  1902 


V;    f- 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 


CONTENTS 

/.     David    and    I    Set    Forth    upon  a 

Journey  1 

//.     The  Little  Nursery  Governess  13 

///.     Her    Marriage^    Her    Clothes,    Her 

Appetite,    and    an    Inventory  of 

Her  Furniture  27 

IV,     A  Night-Piece  42 

F.     The  Fight  for  Timothy  53 

VL     A  ShocJc  61 

VII,     The  Last  of  Timothy  74 

VIIL     The  Inconsiderate   Waiter  80 

I^,     A  Confirmed  Spinster  98 

X.     Sporting  Reflections  110 

XI,     The  Runaway  Perambulator  113 

XII,     The  Pleasantest  Club  in  London  129 

XI I L     The  Grand  Tour  of  the  Gardens  142 

iii 


267882 


CONTENTS 

XIV,  Peter  Pan  157 

XV,  The  Thrmli's  Nest  173 

XVI.  Lock-Out  Time  189 

XVII.  The  Little  House  209 

XVIIL  Peter's  Goat  237 

XIX.  An  Literhjjer  253 

XX,  David  and  Porthos  Compared  260 

XXL  William  Paterson  271 

XXIL  Joey  285 

XXLIL  PilUngton's  300 

XXIV.  Barbara  316 

XXV.  The  Cricket  Match  330 

XXVI.  The  Dedication  335 


iv 


THE  LITTLE  WHITE  BIRD 


DAVID  AND   I  SET    FORTH   UPON   A   JOURNEY 

Sometimes  the  little  boy  who  calls  me  father 
brings  me  an  invitation  from  his  mother:  "I  shall 
be  so  pleased  if  you  will  come  and  see  me,"  and  I 
always  reply  in  some  such  words  as  these:  "Dear 
madam,  I  decline."  And  if  David  asks  why  I  de- 
cline, I  explain  that  it  is  because  I  have  no  desire 
to  meet  the  woman. 

"Come  this  time,  father,"  he  urged  lately,  "for 
it  is  her  birthday,  and  she  is  twenty-six,"  which 
is  so  great  an  age  to  David,  that  I  think  he  fears 
she  cannot  last  much  longer. 

"Twenty-six,  is  she,  David.?"  I  repHed.  "Tell 
her  I  said  she  looks  more." 

I  had  my  delicious  dream  that  night.  I  dreamt 
1 


1.HE    I^ITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

that  I  too  was  twenty-six,  which  was  a  long  time 
ago,  and  that  I  took  train  to  a  place  called  my 
home,  whose  whereabouts  I  see  not  in  my  waking 
hours,  and  when  I  alighted  at  the  station  a  dear 
lost  love  was  waiting  for  me,  and  we  went  away 
together.  She  met  me  in  no  ecstasy  of  emotion, 
nor  was  I  surprised  to  find  her  there;  it  was  as  if 
we  had  been  married  for  years  and  parted  for  a 
day.  I  like  to  tliink  that  I  gave  her  some  of  the 
things  to  carry. 

Were  I  to  tell  my  delightful  dream  to  David's 
mother,  to  whom  I  have  never  in  my  life  addressed 
one  word,  she  would  droop  her  head  and  raise  it 
bravely,  to  imply  that  I  make  her  very  sad  but 
very  proud,  and  she  would  be  wishful  to  lend  mo 
her  absurd  little  pocket  handkerchief.  And  then, 
had  I  the  heart,  I  might  make  a  disclosure  that 
would  startle  her,  for  it  is  not  tlie  face  of  David's 
mother  that  I  see  in  my  dreams. 

Has  it  ever  been  your  lot,  reader,  to  be  perse- 
cuted by  a  pretty  woman  who  thinks,  without  a 
tittle  of  reason,  that  you  are  bowed  down  under 
a  hopeless  partiahty   for  her.*^  It  is  thus  that  I 

2 


DAVID    AND    I    JOURNEY 

have  been  pursued  for  several  years  now  by  the 
unwelcome   sympathy    of   the   tender-hearted    and 

virtuous  Mary  A .  When  we  pass  in  the  street 

the  poor  deluded  soul  subdues  her  buoyancy,  as  if 
it  were  shame  to  walk  happy  before  one  she  has 
lamed,  and  at  such  times  the  rustle  of  her  gown 
is  whispered  words  of  comfort  to  me,  and  her  arms 
are  kindly  wings  that  wish  I  was  a  little  boy  like 
David.  I  also  detect  in  her  a  fearful  elation,  which 
I  am  unaware  of  until  she  has  passed,  when  it 
comes  back  to  me  like  a  faint  note  of  challenge. 
Eyes  that  say  you  never  must,  nose  that  says  why 
don't  you?  and  a  mouth  that  says  I  rather  wish 

you  could:  such  is  the  portrait  of  Mary  A as 

she  and  I  pass  by. 

Once  she  dared  to  address  me,  so  that  she  could 
boast  to  David  that  I  had  spoken  to  her.  I  was 
in  the  Kensington  Gardens,  and  she  asked  would 
I  tell  her  the  time  please,  just  as  children  ask,  and 
forget  as  they  run  back  with  it  to  their  nurse.  But 
I  was  prepared  even  for  this,  and  raising  my  hat 
I  pointed  with  my  staff  to  a  clock  in  the  distance. 
She  should  have  been  overwhelmed,  but  as  I  walked 

S 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

on  listening  intently,  I  thought  with  displeasure 
that  I  heard  her  laughing. 

Her  laugh  is  very  like  David's,  whom  I  could 
punch  all  day  in  order  to  hear  him  laugh.  I  dare 
say  she  put  this  laugh  into  him.  She  has  been  put- 
ting qualities  into  David,  altering  him,  turning 
him  forever  on  a  lathe  since  the  day  she  first  knew 
him,  and  indeed  long  before,  and  all  so  deftly  that 
he  is  still  called  a  child  of  nature.  When  you  re- 
lease David's  hand  he  is  immediately  lost  like  an 
arrow  from  the  bow.  No  sooner  do  you  cast  eyes 
on  him  than  you  are  thinking  of  birds.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  believe  that  he  walks  to  the  Kensington 
Gardens;  he  always  seems  to  have  alighted  there: 
and  were  I  to  scatter  crumbs  I  opine  he  would 
come  and  peck.  This  is  not  what  he  set  out  to  be ; 
it  is  all  the  doing  of  that  timid-looking  lady  who 
affects  to  be  greatly  surprised  by  it.  He  strikes  a 
hundred  gallant  poses  in  a  day;  when  he  tumbles, 
which  is  often,  he  comes  to  the  ground  like  a  Greek 

god;  so  Mary  A has  willed  it.  But  how  she 

suffers  that  he  may  achieve !  I  have  seen  him  climb- 
ing a  tree  while  she  stood  beneath  in  unutterable 

4 


DAVID    AND    I    JOURNEY 

anguish;  she  had  to  let  him  climb,  for  boys  must 
be  brave,  but  I  am  sure  that,  as  she  watched  him, 
she  fell  from  every  branch. 

David  admires  her  prodigiously;  he  thinks  her 
so  good  that  she  will  be  able  to  get  him  into  heaven, 
however  naughty  he  is.  Otherwise  he  would  tres- 
pass less  light-heartedly.  Perhaps  she  has  discov- 
ered this;  for,  as  I  learn  from  him,  she  warned 
him  lately  that  she  is  not  such  a  dear  as  he  thinks 
her. 

"  I  am  very  sure  of  it,"  I  replied. 

"Is  she  such  a  dear  as  you  think  her?"  he  asked 
me. 

"Heaven  help  her,"  I  said,  "if  she  be  not  dearer 
than  that." 

Heaven  help  all  mothers  if  they  be  not  really 
dears,  for  their  boy  will  certainly  know  it  in  that 
strange  short  hour  of  the  day  when  every  mother 
stands  revealed  before  her  little  son.  That  dread 
hour  ticks  between  six  and  seven;  when  children 
go  to  bed  later  the  revelation  has  ceased  to  come. 
He  is  lapt  in  for  the  night  now  and  lies  quietly 
there,  madam,  with  great,  mysterious  eyes  fixed 

5 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

upon  his  mother.  He  is  summing  up  your  day. 
Nothing  in  the  revelations  that  kept  you  together 
and  yet  apart  in  play  time  can  save  you  now;  you 
two  are  of  no  age,  no  experience  of  life  separates 
you;  it  is  the  boy's  hour,  and  you  have  come  up 
for  judgment.  "Have  I  done  well  to-day,  my  son.?" 
You  have  got  to  say  it,  and  nothing  may  you  hide 
from  him;  he  knows  all.  How  like  your  voice  has 
gro^vn  to  his,  but  more  tremulous,  and  both  so 
solemn,  so  unlike  the  voice  of  either  of  you  by 
day. 

"You  were  a  little  unjust  to  me  to-day  about 
the  apple;  were  you  not,  mother.?" 

Stand  there,  woman,  by  the  foot  of  the  bed  and 
cross  your  hands  and  answer  him. 

"Yes,  my  son,  I  was.  I  thought " 

But  what  you  thought  will  not  affect  the  verdict. 

"Was  it  fair,  mother,  to  say  that  I  could  stay 
out  till  six,  and  then  pretend  it  was  six  before  it 
was  quite  six?" 

"No,  it  was  very  unfair.  I  thought " 

"Would  it  have  been  a  lie  if  /  had  said  it  was 
quite  six.?" 

$ 


DAVID    AND    I    JOURNEY 

"Oh,  my  son,  my  son!  I  shall  never  tell  you  a 
lie  again." 

"No,  mother,  please  don't." 

"My  boy,  have  I  done  well  to-day  on  the 
whole?" 

Suppose  he  were  unable  to  say  yes. 

These  are  the  merest  peccadilloes,  you  may  say. 
Is  it  then  a  little  thing  to  be  false  to  the  agreement 
you  signed  when  you  got  the  boy?  There  are 
mothers  who  avoid  their  children  in  that  hour,  but 
this  will  not  save  them.  Why  is  it  that  so  many 
women  are  afraid  to  be  left  alone  with  their 
thoughts  between  six  and  seven?  I  am  not  asking 
this  of  you,  Mary.  I  believe  that  when  you  close 
David's  door  softly  there  is  a  gladness  in  your  eyes, 
and  the  awe  of  one  who  knows  that  the  God  to 
whom  little  boys  say  their  prayers  has  a  face  very 
like  their  mother's. 

I  may  mention  here  that  David  is  a  stout  be- 
liever in  prayer,  and  has  had  his  first  fight  with 
another  young  Christian  who  challenged  him  to  the 
jump  and  prayed  for  victory,  which  David  thought 
was  taking  an  unfair  advantage. 

7 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

"So  Mary  is  twenty-six!  I  say,  David,  she  is 
getting  on.  Tell  her  that  I  am  coming  in  to  kiss 
her  when  she  is  fifty-two." 

He  told  her,  and  I  understand  that  she  pre- 
tended to  be  indignant.  When  I  pass  her  in  the 
street  now  she  pouts.  Clearly  preparing  for  our 
meeting.  She  has  also  said,  I  learn,  that  I  shall  not 
think  so  much  of  her  when  she  is  fifty-two,  mean- 
ing that  she  will  not  be  so  pretty  then.  So  little 
does  the  sex  know  of  beauty.  Surely  a  spirited  old 
lady  may  be  the  prettiest  sight  in  the  world.  For 
my  part,  I  confess  that  it  is  they,  and  not  the 
young  ones,  who  have  ever  been  my  undoing.  Just 
as  I  was  about  to  fall  in  love  I  suddenly  found  that 
I  preferred  the  mother.  Indeed,  I  cannot  see  a 
likely  young  creature  without  impatiently  consid- 
ering her  chances  for,  say,  fifty-two.  Oh,  you 
mysterious  girls,  when  you  are  fifty-two  we  shall 
find  you  out;  you  must  come  into  the  open  then. 
If  the  mouth  has  fallen  sourly  yours  the  blame: 
all  the  meannesses  your  youth  concealed  have  been 
gathering  in  your  face.  But  the  pretty  thoughts 
and   sweet   ways   and   dear,    forgotten   kindnesses 

8 


DAVID    AND    I    JOURNEY 

linger  there  also,  to  bloom  in  your  twilight  like 
evening  primroses. 

Is  it  not  strange  that,  though  I  talk  thus  plainly 
to  David  about  his  mother,  he  still  seems  to  think 
me  fond  of  her?  How  now,  I  reflect,  what  sort 
of  bumpkin  is  this,  and  perhaps  I  say  to  him 
cruelly :  "Boy,  you  are  uncommonly  like  your 
mother." 

To  which  David:  "Is  that  why  you  are  so  kind 
to  me.?" 

I  suppose  I  am  kind  to  him,  but  if  so  it  is  not 
for  love  of  his  mother,  but  because  he  sometimes 
calls  me  father.  On  my  honour  as  a  soldier,  there 
is  nothing  more  in  it  than  that.  I  must  not  let  him 
know  this,  for  it  would  make  him  conscious,  and 
so  break  the  spell  that  binds  him  and  me  together. 

Oftenest  I  am  but  Captain  W to  him,  and  for 

the  best  of  reasons.  He  addresses  me  as  father  when 
he  is  in  a  hurry  only,  and  never  have  I  dared  ask 
him  to  use  the  name.  He  says,  "Come,  father,"  with 
an  accursed  beautiful  carelessness.  So  let  it  be, 
David,  for  a  little  while  longer. 

I  like  to  hear  him  say  it  before  others,  as  In 
9 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

shops.  When  in  shops  he  asks  the  salesman  how 
much  money  he  makes  in  a  day,  and  which  drawer 
he  keeps  it  in,  and  why  his  hair  is  red,  and  does 
he  Hke  Achilles,  of  whom  David  has  lately  heard, 
and  is  so  enamoured  that  he  wants  to  die  to  meet 
him.  At  such  times  the  shopkeepers  accept  me  as 
his  father,  and  I  cannot  explain  the  peculiar  pleas- 
ure this  gives  me.  I  am  always  in  two  minds  then, 
to  linger  that  we  may  have  more  of  it,  and  to 
snatch  him  away  before  he  volunteers  the  informa- 
tion, "He  is  not  really  my  father." 

When  David  meets  Achilles  I  know  what  will 
happen.  The  little  boy  will  take  the  hero  by  the 
hand,  call  him  father,  and  drag  him  away  to  some 
Round  Pond. 

One  day,  when  David  was  about  five,  I  sent  him 
the  following  letter:  "Dear  David:  If  you  reaUy 
want  to  know  how  it  began,  will  you  come  and 
have  a  chop  with  me  to-day  at  the  club?" 

Mary,  who,  I  have  found  out,  opens  all  his  let- 
ters, gave  her  consent,  and,  I  doubt  not,  instructed 
him  to  pay  heed  to  what  happened  so  that  he  might 
repeat  it  to  her,  for  despite  her  curiosity  she  knows 
10 


DAVID    AND    I    JOURNEY 

not  how  it  began  herself.  I  chuckled,  guessing  that 
she  expected  something  romantic. 

He  came  to  me  arrayed  as  for  a  mighty  journey, 
and  looking  unusually  solemn,  as  little  boys  always 
do  look  when  they  are  wearing  a  great  coat.  There 
was  a  shawl  round  his  neck.  "You  can  take  some 
of  them  off,"  I  said,  "when  we  come  to  summer." 

"Shall  we  come  to  summer.?"  he  asked,  properly 
awed. 

"To  many  summers,"  I  replied,  "for  we  are 
going  away  back,  David,  to  see  your  mother  as 
she  was  in  the  days  before  there  was  you." 

We  hailed  a  hansom.  "Drive  back  six  years,"  I 
said  to  the  cabby,  "and  stop  at  the  Junior  Old 
Fogies'  Club." 

He  was  a  stupid  fellow,  and  I  had  to  guide  him 
•  with  my  umbrella. 

The  streets  were  not  quite  as  they  had  been  in 
the  morning.  For  instance,  the  bookshop  at  the 
corner  was  now  selling  fish.  I  dropped  David  a  hint 
of  what  was  going  on. 

"It  doesn't  make  me  littler,  does  it?"  he  asked 
anxiously;   and  then,  with  a  terrible  misgiving: 

11 


THE   LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

"It  won't  make  me  too  little,  will  it,  father?"  by 
which  he  meant  that  he  hoped  it  would  not  do  for 
him  altogether.  He  slipped  his  hand  nervously  into 
mine,  and  I  put  it  in  my  pocket. 

You  can't  think  how  little  David  looked  as  we 
entered  the  portals  of  the  club. 


If 


II 

THE    LITTLE    NURSERY    GOVERNESS 

As  I  enter  the  club  smoking-room  you  are  to  con« 
ceive  David  vanishing  into  nothingness,  and  that 
it  is  any  day  six  years  ago  at  two  in  the  afternoon. 
I  ring  for  coffee,  cigarette,  and  cherry  brandy,  and 
take  my  chair  by  the  window,  just  as  the  absurd 
little  nursery  governess  comes  tripping  into  the 
street.  I  always  feel  that  I  have  rung  for  her. 

While  I  am  hfting  the  coffee-pot  cautiously  lest 
the  lid  fall  into  the  cup,  she  is  crossing  to  the  post- 
office;  as  I  select  the  one  suitable  lump  of  sugar 
she  is  taking  six  last  looks  at  the  letter;  with  the 
aid  of  William  I  light  my  cigarette,  and  now  she 
is  re-reading  the  delicious  address.  I  lie  back  in 
my  chair,  and  by  this  time  she  has  dropped  the 
letter  down  the  sht.  I  toy  with  my  liqueur,  and 
she  is  listening  to  hear  whether  the  postal  authori- 
ties have  come  for  her  letter.  I  scowl  at  a  fellow- 
member  who  has  had  the  impudence  to  enter  the 

13 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

smoking-room,  and  her  two  little  charges  are  pull- 
ing her  away  from  the  post-office.  When  I  look  out 
at  the  window  again  she  is  gone,  but  I  shall  ring 
for  her  to-morrow  at  two  sharp. 

She  must  have  passed  the  window  many  times 
before  I  noticed  her.  I  know  not  where  she  lives, 
though  I  suppose  it  to  be  hard  by.  She  is  taking 
the  Uttle  boy  and  girl,  who  bully  her,  to  the  St. 
James's  Park,  as  their  hoops  tell  me,  and  she  ought 
to  look  crushed  and  faded.  No  doubt  her  mistress 
overworks  her.  It  must  enrage  the  other  servants 
to  see  her  deporting  herself  as  if  she  were  quite 
the  lady. 

I  noticed  that  she  had  sometimes  other  letters  to 
post,  but  that  the  posting  of  the  one  only  was  a 
process.  They  shot  down  the  slit,  plebeians  all,  but 
it  followed  pompously  like  royalty.  I  have  even 
seen  her  blow  a  kiss  after  it. 

Then  there  was  her  ring,  of  which  she  was  as 
conscious  as  if  it  rather  than  she  was  what  came 
gaily  down  the  street.  She  felt  it  through  her 
glove  to  make  sure  that  it  was  still  there.  She  took 
off  the  glove  and  raised  the  ring  to  her  lips,  though 

14 


THE    NURSERY    GOVERNESS 

I  doubt  not  it  was  the  cheapest  trinket.  She  viewed 
it  from  afar  by  stretching  out  her  hand;  she 
stooped  to  see  how  it  looked  near  the  ground;  she 
considered  its  effect  on  the  right  of  her  and  on 
the  left  of  her  and  through  one  eye  at  a  time. 
Even  when  you  saw  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind 
to  think  hard  of  something  else,  the  little  silly 
would  take  another  look. 

I  give  anyone  three  chances  to  guess  why  Mary 
was  so  happy. 

No  and  no  and  no.  The  reason  was  simply  this, 
that  a  lout  of  a  young  man  loved  her.  And  so,  in- 
stead of  crying  because  she  was  the  merest  nobody, 
she  must,  forsooth,  sail  jauntily  down  Pall  Mall, 
very  trim  as  to  her  tackle  and  ticketed  with  the 
insufferable  air  of  an  engaged  woman.  At  first  her 
complacency  disturbed  me,  but  gradually  it  became 
part  of  my  life  at  two  o'clock  with  the  coffee,  the 
cigarette,  and  the  liqueur.  Now  comes  the  tragedy. 

Thursday  is  her  great  day.  She  has  from  two 
to  three  every  Thursday  for  her  very  own;  just 
think  of  it:  this  girl,  who  is  probably  paid  several 
pounds  a  year,  gets  a  whole  hour  to  herself  once 

15 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

a  week.  And  what  does  she  with  it?  Attend  classes 
for  making  her  a  more  accompHshed  person?  Not 
she.  This  is  what  she  does:  sets  sail  for  Pall  Mall, 
wearing  all  her  pretty  things,  including  the  blue 
feathers,  and  with  such  a  sparkle  of  expectation 
on  her  face  that  I  stir  my  coffee  quite  fiercely.  On 
ordinary  days  she  at  least  tries  to  look  demure,  but 
on  a  Thursday  she  has  had  the  assurance  to  use 
the  glass  door  of  the  club  as  a  mirror  in  which 
to  see  how  she  likes  her  engaging  trifle  of  a  figure 
to-day. 

In  the  meantime  a  long-legged  oaf  Is  waiting 
for  her  outside  the  post-office,  where  they  meet 
every  Thursday,  a  fellow  who  always  wears  the 
same  suit  of  clothes,  but  has  a  face  that  must 
ever  make  him  free  of  the  company  of  gentlemen. 
He  is  one  of  your  lean,  clean  Englishmen,  who 
strip  so  well,  and  I  fear  me  he  is  handsome ;  I  say 
fear,  for  your  handsome  men  have  always  annoyed 
me,  and  had  I  lived  in  the  duelling  days  I  swear 
I  would  have  called  every  one  of  them  out.  He 
seems  to  be  quite  unaware  that  he  is  a  pretty  fel- 
low, but  Lord,  how  obviously  Mary  knows  it.  I 

16 


THE    NURSERY    GOVERNESS 

conclude  that  he  belongs  to  the  artistic  classes,  he 
is  so  easily  elated  and  depressed;  and  because  he 
carries  his  left  thumb  curiously,  as  if  it  were  feel- 
ing for  the  hole  of  a  palette,  I  have  entered  his 
name  among  the  painters.  I  find  pleasure  in  de- 
ciding that  they  are  shocking  bad  pictures,  for 
obviously  no  one  buys  them.  I  feel  sure  Mary  says 
they  are  splendid,  she  is  that  sort  of  woman.  Hence 
the  rapture  with  which  he  greets  her.  Her  first 
effect  upon  him  is  to  make  him  shout  with  laugh- 
ter. He  laughs  suddenly  haw  from  an  eager  exult- 
ing face,  then  haw  again,  and  then,  when  you  are 
thanking  heaven  that  it  is  at  last  over,  comes  a 
final  haw,  louder  than  the  others.  I  take  them  to 
be  roars  of  joy  because  Mary  is  his,  and  they  have 
a  ring  of  youth  about  them  that  is  hard  to  bear. 
I  could  forgive  him  everything  save  his  youth,  but 
it  is  so  aggressive  that  I  have  sometimes  to  order 
William  testily  to  close  the  window. 

How  much  more  deceitful  than  her  lover  is  the 
little  nursery  governess.  The  moment  she  comes 
into  sight  she  looks  at  the  post-office  and  sees  him. 
Then  she  looks  straight  before  her,  and  now  she 

17 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

19  observed,  and  he  rushes  across  to  her  In  a  glory, 
and  she  starts — positively  starts — as  if  he  had 
taken  her  by  surprise.  Observe  her  hand  rising  sud- 
denly to  her  wicked  little  heart.  This  is  the  mo- 
ment when  I  stir  my  coffee  violently.  He  gazes 
down  at  her  in  such  rapture  that  he  is  in  every- 
body's way,  and  as  she  takes  his  arm  she  gives  it 
a  little  squeeze,  and  then  away  they  strut,  Mary 
doing  nine-tenths  of  the  talking.  I  fall  to  wonder- 
ing what  they  will  look  like  when  they  grow  up. 

What  a  ludicrous  difference  do  these  two  no- 
bodies make  to  each  other.  You  can  see  that  they 
are  to  be  married  when  he  has  twopence. 

Thus  I  have  not  an  atom  of  sympathy  with  this 
girl,  to  whom  London  is  famous  only  as  the  resi- 
dence of  a  young  man  who  mistakes  her  for  some- 
one else,  but  her  happiness  had  become  part  of  my 
repast  at  two  p.m.,  and  when  one  day  she  walked 
down  Pall  Mall  without  gradually  posting  a  letter 
I  was  most  indignant.  It  was  as  if  William  had 
disobeyed  orders.  Her  two  charges  were  as  sur- 
prised as  I,  and  Dolnted  questloningly  to  the  slit, 
at  which  she  shook  her  head.  She  put  her  finger 

18 


THE    NURSERY    GOVERNESS 

to  her  eyes,  exactly  like  a  sad  baby,  and  so  passed 
from  the  street. 

Next  day  the  same  thing  happened,  and  I  was 
so  furious  that  I  bit  through  my  cigarette.  Thurs- 
day came,  when  I  prayed  that  there  might  be  an 
end  of  this  annoyance,  but  no,  neither  of  them 
appeared  on  that  acquainted  ground.  Had  they 
changed  their  post-office?  No,  for  her  eyes  were 
red  every  day,  and  heavy  was  her  foolish  little 
heart.  Love  had  put  out  his  lights,  and  the  little 
nursery  governess  walked  in  darkness. 

I  felt  I  could  complain  to  the  committee. 

Oh,  you  selfish  young  zany  of  a  man,  after  all 
you  have  said  to  her,  won't  you  make  it  up  and 
let  me  return  to  my  coffee?  Not  he. 

Little  nursery  governess,  I  appeal  to  you.  An- 
noying girl,  be  joyous  as  of  old  during  the  five 
minutes  of  the  day  when  you  are  anything  to  me, 
and  for  the  rest  of  the  time,  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, you  may  be  as  wretched  as  you  list.  Show 
some  courage.  I  assure  you  he  must  be  a  very  bad 
painter;  only  the  other  day  I  saw  him  looking 
longingly   into   the   window   of   a    cheap    Italian 

19 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

restaurant,  and  m  the  end  he  had  to  crush  down 
his  aspirations  with  two  penny  scones. 

You  can  do  better  than  that.  Come,  Mary. 

All  in  vain.  She  wants  to  be  loved;  can't  do 
without  love  from  morning  till  night;  never  knew 
how  little  a  woman  needs  till  she  lost  that  little. 
They  are  all  like  this. 

Zounds,  madam,  if  you  are  resolved  to  be  a 
drooping  little  figure  till  you  die,  you  might  at 
least  do  it  in  another  street. 

Not  only  does  she  maliciously  depress  me  by 
walking  past  on  ordinary  days,  but  I  have  discov- 
ered that  every  Thursday  from  two  to  three  she 
stands  afar  off,  gazing  hopelessly  at  the  romantic 
post-office  where  she  and  he  shall  meet  no  more. 
In  these  windy  days  she  is  like  a  homeless  leaf 
blown  about  by  passers-by. 

There  is  nothing  I  can  do  except  thunder  at 
William. 

At  last  she  accomplished  her  unworthy  ambition. 
It  was  a  wet  Thursday,  and  from  the  window  where 
I  was  writing  letters  I  saw  the  forlorn  soul  taking 
up  her  position  at  the  top  of  the  street :  In  a  blast 

20 


THE    NURSERY    GOVERNESS 

of  fury  I  rose  with  the  one  letter  I  had  completed, 
meaning  to  write  the  others  in  my  chambers.  She 
had  driven  me  from  the  club. 

I  had  turned  out  of  Pall  Mall  into  a  side  street, 
when  whom  should  I  strike  against  but  her  false 
swain!  It  was  my  fault,  but  I  hit  out  at  him  sav- 
agely, as  I  always  do  when  I  run  into  anyone  in 
the  street.  Then  I  looked  at  him.  He  was  hollow- 
eyed;  he  was  muddy;  there  was  not  a  haw  left  in 
him.  I  never  saw  a  more  abject  young  man;  he 
had  not  even  the  spirit  to  resent  the  testy  stab  I 
had  given  him  with  my  umbrella.  But  this  is  the 
important  thing:  he  was  glaring  wistfully  at  the 
post-office  and  thus  in  a  twink  I  saw  that  he  still 
adored  my  little  governess.  Whatever  had  been 
their  quarrel  he  was  as  anxious  to  make  it  up  as 
she,  and  perhaps  he  had  been  here  every  Thursday 
while  she  was  round  the  corner  in  Pall  Mall,  each 
watching  the  post-office  for  an  apparition.  But 
from  where  they  hovered  neither  could  see  the 
other. 

I  think  what  I  did  was  quite  clever.  I  dropped 
my  letter  unseen  at  his  feet,  and  sauntered  back 

21 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

to  the  club.  Of  course,  a  gentleman  who  finds  a 
letter  on  the  pavement  feels  bound  to  post  it,  and 
I  presumed  that  he  would  naturally  go  to  the  near- 
est office. 

With  my  hat  on  I  strolled  to  the  smoking-room 
window,  and  was  just  in  time  to  see  him  posting 
my  letter  across  the  way.  Then  I  looked  for  the 
little  nursery  governess.  I  saw  her  as  woe-begone 
as  ever;  then,  suddenly — oh,  you  poor  little  soul, 
and  has  it  really  been  as  bad  as  that! 

She  was  crying  outright,  and  he  was  holding 
both  her  hands.  It  was  a  disgraceful  exhibition. 
The  young  painter  would  evidently  explode  if  he 
could  not  make  use  of  his  arms.  She  must  die  if  she 
could  not  lay  her  head  upon  his  breast.  I  must 
admit  that  he  rose  to  the  occasion;  he  hailed  a 
hansom. 

"William,"  said  I  gaily,  "coffee,  cigarette,  and 
cherry  brandy." 

As  I  sat  there  watching  that  old  play  David 
plucked  my  sleeve  to  ask  what  I  was  looking  at  so 
deedily;  and  when  I  told  him  he  ran  eagerly  to 
22 


THE    NURSERY    GOVERNESS 

the  window,  but  he  reached  it  just  too  late  to  see 
the  ladj  who  was  to  become  his  mother.  What  I 
told  him  of  her  doings,  however,  interested  him 
greatly ;  and  he  intimated  rather  shyly  that  he  was 
acquainted  with  the  man  who  said,  "  Haw-haw- 
hawJ"^  On  the  other  hand,  he  irritated  me  by  be- 
traying an  idiotic  interest  in  the  two  children, 
whom  he  seemed  to  regard  as  the  hero  and  heroine 
of  the  story.  What  were  their  names.?  How  old 
were  they.''  Had  they  both  hoops.?  Were  they  iron 
hoops,  or  just  wooden  hoops?  Who  gave  them  their 
hoops .? 

"You  don't  seem  to  understand,  my  boy,"  I  said 
tartly,  "that  had  I  not  dropped  that  letter,  there 
would  never  have  been  a  little  boy  called  David 

A ."  But  instead  of  being  appalled  by   this 

he  asked,  sparkling,  whether  I  meant  that  he  would 
still  be  a  bird  flying  about  in  the  Kensington 
Gardens. 

David  knows  that  all  children  in  our  part  of 
London  were  once  birds  in  the  Kensington  Gar- 
dens ;  and  that  the  reason  there  are  bars  on  nursery 
windows  and  a  tall  fender  by  the  fire  is  because 
2S 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

very  little  people  sometimes  forget  that  they  have 
no  longer  wings,  and  try  to  fly  away  through  the 
window  or  up  the  chimney. 

Children  in  the  bird  stage  are  difficult  to  catch. 
David  knows  that  many  people  have  none,  and  his 
delight  on  a  summer  afternoon  is  to  go  with  me 
to  some  spot  in  the  Gardens  where  these  unfortu- 
nates may  be  seen  trying  to  catch  one  with  small 
pieces  of  cake. 

That  the  birds  know  what  would  happen  if  they 
were  caught,  and  are  even  a  little  undecided  about 
which  is  the  better  life,  is  obvious  to  every  student 
of  them.  Thus,  if  you  leave  your  empty  peram- 
bulator under  the  trees  and  watch  from  a  distance, 
you  will  see  the  birds  boarding  it  and  hopping 
about  from  pillow  to  blanket  in  a  twitter  of  excite- 
ment; they  are  trying  to  find  out  how  babyhood 
would  suit  them. 

Quite  the  prettiest  sight  in  the  Gardens  is  when 
the  babies  stray  from  the  tree  where  the  nurse  is 
sitting  and  are  seen  feeding  the  birds,  not  a  grown- 
up near  them.  It  is  first  a  bit  to  me  and  then  a 
bit  to  you,  and  all  the  time  such  a  jabbering  and 
24 


THE    NURSERY    GOVERNESS 

laughing  from  both  sides  of  the  railing.  They  are 
comparing  notes  and  inquiring  for  old  friends,  and 
so  on;  but  what  they  say  I  cannot  determine,  for 
when  I  approach  they  all  fly  away. 

The  first  time  I  ever  saw  David  was  on  the  sward 
behind  the  Baby's  Walk.  He  was  a -missel-thrush, 
attracted  thither  that  hot  day  by  a  hose  which  lay 
on  the  ground  sending  forth  a  gay  trickle  of  wa- 
ter, and  David  was  on  his  back  in  the  water,  kick- 
ing up  his  legs.  He  used  to  enjoy  being  told  of 
this,  having  forgotten  all  about  it,  and  gradually 
it  all  came  back  to  him,  with  a  number  of  other 
incidents  that  had  escaped  my  memory,  though  I 
remember  that  he  was  eventually  caught  by  the  leg 
with  a  long  string  and  a  cunning  arrangement  of 
twigs  near  the  Round  Pond.  He  never  tires  of  this 
story,  but  I  notice  that  it  is  now  he  who  tells  it 
to  me  rather  than  I  to  him,  and  when  we  come  to 
the  string  he  rubs  his  little  leg  as  if  it  still  smarted. 

So  when  David  saw  his  chance  of  being  a  missel- 
thrush  again  he  called  out  to  me  quickly:  "Don't 
drop  the  letter!"  and  there  were  tree-tops  in  his 
eyes. 

25 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

"Think  of  your  mother,"  I  said  severely. 

He  said  he  would  often  fly  in  to  see  her.  The 
first  thing  he  would  do  would  be  to  hug  her.  No, 
he  would  alight  on  the  water- jug  first,  and  have  a 
drink. 

"Tell  her,  father,"  he  said  with  horrid  heart- 
lessness,  "always  to  have  plenty  of  water  in  it,  'cos 
if  I  had  to  lean  down  too  far  I  might  fall  in  and 
be  drownded." 

"Am  I  not  to  drop  the  letter,  David?  Think  of 
your  poor  mother  without  her  boy !" 

It  affected  him,  but  he  bore  up.  When  she  was 
asleep,  he  said,  he  would  hop  on  to  the  frilly  things 
of  her  night-gown  and  peck  at  her  mouth. 

"And  then  she  would  wake  up,  David,  and  find 
that  she  had  only  a  bird  instead  of  a  boy." 

This  shock  to  Mary  was  more  than  he  could  en- 
dure. "You  can  drop  it,"  he  said  with  a  sigh.  So 
I  dropped  the  letter,  as  I  think  I  have  already 
mentioned ;  and  that  is  how  it  all  began. 


26 


Ill 

HER  MARRIAGE,  HER  CLOTHES,  HER  APPETITE,  AND 
AN    INVENTORY    OF    HER    FURNITURE 

A.  WEEK  or  two  after  I  dropped  the  letter  I  was 
in  a  hansom  on  my  way  to  certain  barracks  when 
loud  above  the  city's  roar  I  heard  that  accursed 
haw-haw-haw,  and  there  they  were,  the  two  of 
them,  just  coming  out  of  a  shop  where  you  may 
obtain  pianos  on  the  hire  system.  I  had  the  merest 
glimpse  of  them,  but  there  was  an  extraordinary 
rapture  on  her  face,  and  his  head  was  thrown 
proudly  back,  and  all  because  they  had  been  order- 
ing a  piano  on  the  hire  system. 

So  they  were  to  be  married  directly.  It  was  all 
rather  contemptible,  but  I  passed  on  tolerantly,  for 
it  is  only  when  she  is  unhappy  that  this  vvoman 
disturbs  me,  owing  to  a  clever  way  she  has  at  such 
times  of  looking  more  fragile  than  she  really  is. 

When  next  I  saw  them,  they  were  gazing  greed- 
ily into   the  window  of  the   sixpenny-halfpenny 

27 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

shop,  which  is  one  of  the  most  deliciouslj  dramatic 
spots  in  London.  Mary  was  taking  notes  feverishly 
on  a  slip  of  paper  while  he  did  the  adding  up,  and 
in  the  end  they  went  away  gloomily  without  buy- 
ing anything.  I  was  in  high  feather.  "Match 
abandoned,  ma'am,"  I  said  to  myself;  "outlook 
hopeless ;  another  visit  to  the  Governesses'  Agency 
inevitable;  can't  marry  for  want  of  a  kitchen 
shovel." 

But  I  was  imperfectly  acquainted  with  the  lady. 

A  few  days  afterward  I  found  myself  walking 
behind  her.  There  is  something  artful  about  her 
skirts  by  which  I  always  know  her,  though  I  can't 
say  what  it  is.  She  was  carrying  an  enormous  par- 
cel that  might  have  been  a  bird-cage  wrapped  in 
brown  paper,  and  she  took  it  into  a  bric-a-brac 
shop  and  came  out  without  it.  She  then  ran  rather 
than  walked  in  the  direction  of  the  sixpenny-half- 
penny shop.  Now  mystery  of  any  kind  is  detest- 
able to  me,  and  I  went  into  the  bric-a-brac  shop, 
ostensibly  to  look  at  the  cracked  china;  and  there, 
still  on  the  counter,  with  the  wrapping  torn  off  it, 
was  the  article  Mary  had  sold  in  order  to  furnish 

28 


HER    MARRIAGE 

on  the  proceeds.  What  do  you  think  it  was?  It  was 
a  wonderful  doll's  house,  with  dolls  at  tea  down- 
stairs and  dolls  going  to  bed  upstairs,  and  a  doll 
showing  a  doll  out  at  the  front  door.  Loving  lips 
had  long  ago  licked  most  of  the  paint  off,  but 
otherwise  the  thing  was  in  admirable  preservation ; 
obviously  the  joy  of  Mary's  childhood,  it  had  now 
been  sold  by  her  that  she  might  get  married. 

"Lately  purchased  by  us,"  said  the  shopwoman, 
seeing  me  look  at  the  toy,  "from  a  lady  who  has 
no  further  use  for  it." 

I  think  I  have  seldom  been  more  indignant  with 
Mary.  I  bought  the  doll's  house,  and  as  they  knew 
the  lady's  address  (it  was  at  this  shop  that  I  first 
learned  her  name)  I  instructed  them  to  send  it  back 
to  her  with  the  following  letter,  which  I  wrote  in 
the  shop:  "Dear  madam,  don't  be  ridiculous.  You 
will  certainly  have  further  use  for  this.  I  am,  etc., 
the  Man  Who  Dropped  the  Letter." 

It  pained  me  afterward,  but  too  late  to  rescind 
the  order,  to  reflect  that  I  had  sent  her  a  wedding 
present;  and  when  next  I  saw  her  she  had  been 
married  for  some  months.  The  time  was  nine  o'clock 

29 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

of  a  November  evening,  and  we  were  in  a  street  of 
shops  that  has  not  in  twenty  years  decided  whether 
to  be  genteel  or  frankly  vulgar;  here  it  minces  in 
the  fashion,  but  take  a  step  onward  and  its  tongue 
is  in  the  cup  of  the  ice-cream  man.  I  usually  rush 
this  street,  which  is  not  far  from  my  rooms,  with 
the  glass  down,  but  to-night  I  was  walking.  Mary 
was  in  front  of  me,  leaning  in  a  somewhat  foolish 
way  on  the  haw-er,  and  they  were  chatting  excit- 
edly. She  seemed  to  be  remonstrating  with  him  for 
going  forward,  yet  more  than  half  admiring  him 
for  not  turning  back,  and  I  wondered  why. 

And  after  all  what  was  it  that  Mary  and  her 
painter  had  come  out  to  do?  To  buy  two  pork 
chops.  On  my  honour.  She  had  been  trying  to  per- 
suade him,  I  decided,  that  they  were  living  too 
lavishly.  That  was  why  she  sought  to  draw  him 
back.  But  in  her  heart  she  loves  audacity,  and  that 
is  why  she  admired  him  for  pressing  forward. 

No  sooner  had  they  bought  the  chops  than  they 
scurried  away  like  two  gleeful  children  to  cook 
them.  I  followed,  hoping  to  trace  them  to  their 
home,  but  they  soon  out-distanced  me,  and  that 

SO 


HER    MARRIAGE 

night  I  composed  the  following  aphorism:  It  is 
idle  to  attempt  to  overtake  a  pretty  young  woman 
carrying  pork  chops.  I  was  now  determined  to  be 
done  with  her.  First,  however,  to  find  out  their 
abode,  which  was  probably  within  easy  distance  of 
the  shop.  I  even  conceived  them  lured  into  taking 
their  house  by  the  advertisement,  "Conveniently 
situated  for  the  Pork  Emporium." 

Well,  one  day — now  this  really  is  romantic  and 
I  am  rather  proud  of  it.  My  chambers  are  on  the 
second  floor,  and  are  backed  by  an  anxiously  polite 
street  between  which  and  mine  are  little  yards 
called,  I  think,  gardens.  They  are  so  small  that  if 
you  have  the  tree  your  neighbour  has  the  shade 
from  it.  I  was  looking  out  at  my  back  window  on 
the  day  we  have  come  to  when  whom  did  I  see  but 
the  whilom  nursery  governess  sitting  on  a  chair  In 
one  of  these  gardens.  I  put  up  my  eye-glass  to 
make  sure,  and  undoubtedly  It  was  she.  But  she 
sat  there  doing  nothing,  which  was  by  no  means 
my  conception  of  the  jade,  so  I  brought  a  field- 
glass  to  bear  and  discovered  that  the  object  was 
merely  a  lady's  jacket.  It  hung  on  the  back  of  a 

31 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

kitchen  chair,  seemed  to  be  a  furry  thing,  and,  I 
must  suppose,  was  suspended  there  for  an  airing. 

I  was  chagrined,  and  then  I  insisted  stoutly  with 
myself  that,  as  it  was  not  Mary,  it  must  be  Mary's 
jacket.  I  had  never  seen  her  wear  such  a  jacket, 
mind  you,  yet  I  was  confident,  I  can't  tell  why. 
Do  clothes  absorb  a  little  of  the  character  of  their 
wearer,  so  that  I  recognised  this  jacket  by  a  certain 
coquetry?  If  she  has  a  way  with  her  skirts  that 
always  advertises  me  of  her  presence,  quite  possibly 
she  is  as  cunning  with  jackets.  Or  perhaps  she  is 
her  own  seamstress,  and  puts  in  little  tucks  of 
herself. 

Figure  it  what  you  please ;  but  I  beg  to  inform 
you  that  I  put  on  my  hat  and  five  minutes  after- 
ward saw  Mary  and  her  husband  emerge  from  the 
house  to  which  I  had  calculated  that  garden  be- 
longed. Now  am  I  clever,  or  am  I  not? 

When  they  had  left  the  street  I  examined  the 
house  leisurely,  and  a  droll  house  it  is.  Seen  from 
the  front  it  appears  to  consist  of  a  door  and  a  win- 
dow, though  above  them  the  trained  eye  may  detect 
another  window,  the  air-hole  of  some  apartment 
82 


HER    MARRIAGE 

which  it  would  be  just  hke  Mary's  grandiloquence 
to  call  her  bedroom.  The  houses  on  each  side  of 
this  bandbox  are  tall,  and  I  discovered  later  that 
it  had  once  been  an  open  passage  to  the  back  gar- 
dens. The  story  and  a  half  of  which  it  consists  had 
been  knocked  up  cheaply,  by  carpenters  I  should 
say  rather  than  masons,  and  the  general  effect  is 
of  a  brightly  coloured  van  that  has  stuck  for  ever 
on  its  way  through  the  passage. 

The  low  houses  of  London  look  so  much  more 
homely  than  the  tall  ones  that  I  never  pass  them 
without  dropping  a  blessing  on  their  builders,  but 
this  house  was  ridiculous;  Indeed  it  did  not  call 
itself  a  house,  for  over  the  door  was  a  board  with 
the  inscription  "This  space  to  be  sold,"  and  I  re- 
membered, as  I  rang  the  bell,  that  this  notice  had 
been  up  for  years.  On  avowing  that  I  wanted  a 
space,  I  was  admitted  by  an  elderly,  somewhat 
dejected  looking  female,  whose  fine  figure  was  not 
on  scale  with  her  surroundings.  Perhaps  my  face 
said  so,  for  her  first  remark  was  explanatory. 

"They  get  me  cheap,"  she  said,  "because  I 
drink." 

33 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRO 

I  bowed,  and  we  passed  on  to  the  drawing-room, 
I  forget  whether  I  have  described  Mary's  personal 
appearance,  but  if  so  you  have  a  picture  of  that 
sunny  drawing-room.  My  first  reflection  was,  How 
can  she  have  found  the  money  to  pay  for  it  all! 
which  is  always  your  first  reflection  when  you  see 
Mary  herself  a-tripping  down  the  street. 

I  have  no  space  (in  that  little  room)  to  cata- 
logue all  the  whim-whams  with  which  she  had  made 
it  beautiful,  from  the  hand-sewn  bell-rope  which 
pulled  no  bell  to  the  hand-painted  cigar-box  that 
contained  no  cigars.  The  floor  was  of  a  delicious 
green  with  exquisite  oriental  rugs;  green  and 
white,  I  think,  was  the  lady's  scheme  of  colour, 
something  cool,  you  observe,  to  keep  the  sun  under. 
The  window-curtains  were  of  some  rare  material 
and  the  colour  of  the  purple  clematis;  they  swept 
the  floor  grandly  and  suggested  a  picture  of  Mary 
receiving  visitors.  The  piano  we  may  ignore,  for  I 
knew  it  to  be  hired,  but  there  were  many  dainty 
pieces,  mostly  in  green  wood,  a  sofa,  a  corner  cup- 
board, and  a  most  captivating  desk,  which  was  so 
like  its  owner  that  it  could  have  sat  down  at  her 


HER   MARRIAGE 

and  dashed  off  a  note.  The  writing  paper  on  this 
desk  had  the  word  Mary  printed  on  it,  implying 
that  if  there  were  other  Marys  they  didn't  count. 
There  were  many  oil-paintings  on  the  walls,  mostly 
without  frames,  and  I  must  mention  the  chandelier, 
which  was  obviously  of  fabulous  worth,  for  she 
had  encased  it  in  a  holland  bag. 

"I  perceive,  ma'am,"  said  I  to  the  stout  maid, 
"that  your  master  is  in  affluent  circumstances." 

She  shook  her  head  emphatically,  and  said  some- 
thing that  I  failed  to  catch. 

"You  wish  to  indicate,"  I  hazarded,  "that  he 
married  a  fortune." 

This  time  I  caught  the  words.  They  were 
"Tinned  meats,"  and  having  uttered  them  she 
lapsed  into  gloomy  silence. 

"Nevertheless,"  I  said,  "this  room  must  have 
cost  a  pretty  penny." 

"She  done  it  all  herself,"  replied  my  new  friend, 
with  concentrated  scorn. 

"But  this  green  floor,  so  beautifully  stained — ^" 

"Boiling  oil,"  said  she,  with  a  flush  of  honest 
shame,  "and  a  shillingsworth  o'  paint." 

35 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

"Those  rugs " 

"Remnants,"  she  sighed,  and  showed  me  how 
artfully  they  had  been  pieced  together. 

"The  curtains " 

"Remnants." 

"At  all  events  the  sofa " 

She  raised  its  drapery,  and  I  saw  that  the  sofa 
was  built  of  packing  cases. 

"The  desk " 

I  really  thought  that  I  was  safe  this  time,  for 
could  I  not  see  the  drawers  with  their  brass  han- 
dles, the  charming  shelf  for  books,  the  pigeon- 
holes with  their  coverings  of  silk? 

"She  made  it  out  of  three  orange  boxes,"  said 
the  lady,  at  last  a  little  awed  herself. 

I  looked  around  me  despairingly,  and  my  eye 
alighted  on  the  holland  covering.  "  There  is  a 
fine  chandelier  in  that  holland  bag,"  I  said  coax- 
ingly. 

She  sniffed  and  was  raising  an  untender  hand, 
when  I  checked  her.  "Forbear,  ma'am,"  I  cried 
with  authority,  "  I  prefer  to  believe  in  that  bag. 
How  much  to  be  pitied,  ma'am,  are  those  who  have 

36 


HER    MARRIAGE 

lost  faith  in  everything."  I  think  all  the  pretty 
things  that  the  little  nursery  governess  had  made 
out  of  nothing  squeezed  my  hand  for  letting  the 
chandelier  off. 

"  But,  good  God,  ma'am,"  said  I  to  madam, 
"what  an  exposure."  , 

She  intimated  that  there  were  other  exposures 
upstairs. 

"So  there  is  a  stair,"  said  I,  and  then,  suspi- 
ciously, "did  she  make  it?" 

No,  but  how  she  had  altered  it. 

The  stair  led  to  Mary's  bedroom,  and  I  said  I 
would  not  look  at  that,  nor  at  the  studio,  which  was 
a  shed  in  the  garden. 

"Did  she  build  the  studio  with  her  own  hands.''" 

No,  but  how  she  had  altered  it. 

"How  she  alters  everything,"  I  said.  "Do  you 
think  you  are  safe,  ma'am.?" 

She  thawed  a  little  under  my  obvious  sympathy 
and  honoured  me  with  some  of  her  views  and  con- 
fidences. The  rental  paid  by  Mary  and  her  husband 
was  not,  it  appeared,  one  on  which  any  self-respect- 
ing domestic  could  reflect  with  pride.  They  got 

S7 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

the  house  very  cheap  on  the  understanding  that 
they  were  to  vacate  it  promptly  if  anyone  bought 
it  for  building  purposes,  and  because  they  paid  so 
little  they  had  to  submit  to  the  indignity  of  the 

notice-board.    Mary    A detested    the    words 

"This  space  to  be  sold,"  and  had  been  known  to 
shake  her  fist  at  them.  She  was  as  elated  about  hep 
house  as  if  it  were  a  real  house,  and  always  trembled 
when  any  possible  purchaser  of  spaces  called. 

As  I  have  told  you  my  own  aphorism  I  feel  I 
ought  in  fairness  to  record  that  of  this  aggrieved 
servant.  It  was  on  the  subject  of  art.  "The  diffi- 
culty," she  said,  "is  not  to  paint  pictures,  but  to 
get  frames  for  them."  A  home  thrust  this. 

She  could  not  honestly  say  that  she  thought 
much  of  her  master's  work.  Nor,  apparently,  did 
any  other  person.  Result,  tinned  meats. 

Yes,  one  person  thought  a  deal  of  it,  or  pre- 
tended to  do  so;  was  constantly  flinging  up  her 
hands  in  delight  over  it;  had  even  been  caught 
whispering  fiercely  to  a  friend,  "Praise  it,  praise 
it,  praise  it !"  This  was  when  the  painter  was  sunk 
in  gloom.  Never,  as  I  could  well  believe,  was  such 
38 


HER    MARRIAGE 

a  one  as  Mary  for  luring  a  man  back  to  cheerful- 
ness. 

"A  dangerous  woman,"  I  said,  with  a  shudder, 
and  fell  to  examining  a  painting  over  the  mantel- 
shelf. It  was  a  portrait  of  a  man,  and  had  impressed 
me  favourably  because  it  was  framed. 

"A  friend  of  hers,"  my  guide  informed  me,  "but 
I  never  seed  him." 

I  would  have  turned  away  from  it,  had  not  an 
inscription  on  the  picture  drawn  me  nearer.  It  was 
in  a  lady's  handwriting,  and  these  were  the  words : 
"Fancy  portrait  of  our  dear  unknown."  Could  it 
be  meant  for  me?  I  cannot  tell  you  how  interested 
I  suddenly  became. 

It  represented  a  very  fine  looking  fellow,  indeed, 
and  not  a  day  more  than  thirty. 

"A  friend  of  hers,  ma'am,  did  you  say?"  I  asked 
quite  shakily.  "How  do  you  know  that,  if  you  have 
never  seen  him?" 

"When  master  was  painting  of  it,"  she  said,  "in 
the  studio,  he  used  to  come  running  in  here  to  say 
to  her  such  like  as,  'What  colour  would  you  make 
his  eyes  ?' " 

S9 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

"And  her  reply,  ma'am?"  I  asked  eagerly. 

"She  said,  'Beautiful  blue  eyes.'  And  he  said, 
*You  wouldn't  make  it  a  handsome  face,  would 
you.?'  and  she  says,  'A  very  handsome  face.'  And 
says  he,  'Middle-aged.'^'  and  says  she,  'Twenty- 
nine.'  And  I  mind  him  saying,  'A  little  bald  on  the 
top  ?'  and  she  says,  says  she,  'Not  at  all.'  " 

The  dear,  grateful  girl,  not  to  make  me  bald  on 
the  top. 

"I  have  seed  her  kiss  her  hand  to  that  picture,'* 
said  the  maid. 

Fancy  Mary  kissing  her  hand  to  me!  Oh,  the 
pretty  love ! 

Pooh! 

I  was  staring  at  the  picture,  cogitating  what  in- 
sulting message  I  could  write  on  it,  when  I  heard 
the  woman's  voice  again.  "I  think  she  has  known 
him  since  she  were  a  babby,"  she  was  saying,  "for 
this  here  was  a  present  he  give  her." 

She  was  on  her  knees  drawing  the  doll's  house 

from  beneath  the  sofa,  where  it  had  been  hidden 

away ;  and  immediately  I  thought,  "I  shall  slip  the 

insulting  message  into  this."  But  I  did  not,  and  I 

40 


HER    MARRIAGE 

shall  tell  you  why.  It  was  because  the  engaging  toy 
had  been  redecorated  by  loving  hands;  there  were 
fresh  gowns  for  all  the  inhabitants,  and  the  paint 
on  the  furniture  was  scarcely  dry.  The  little  doll's 
house  was  almost  ready  for  further  use. 

I  looked  at  the  maid,  but  her  face  was  expres- 
sionless. "Put  it  back,"  I  said,  ashamed  to  have 
surprised  Mary's  pretty  secret,  and  I  left  the  house 
dejectedly,  with  a  profound  conviction  that  the 
little  nursery  governess  had  hooked  on  to  me  again. 


41 


IV 

A   NIGHT-PIECE 

X  HERE  came  a  night  when  the  husband  was 
alone  in  that  street  waiting.  He  can  do  nothing 
for  you  now,  Httle  nursery  governess,  you  must 
fight  it  out  by  yourself;  when  there  are  great 
things  to  do  in  the  house  the  man  must  leave.  Oh, 
man,  selfish,  indelicate,  coarse-grained  at  the  best, 
thy  woman's  hour  has  come;  get  thee  gone. 

He  slouches  from  the  house,  always  her  true 
lover  I  do  believe,  chivalrous,  brave,  a  boy  until 
to-night;  but  was  he  ever  unkind  to  her.?  It  is  the 
unpardonable  sin  now;  is  there  the  memory  of  an 
unkindness  to  stalk  the  street  with  him  to-night? 
And  if  not  an  unkindness,  still  might  he  not  some- 
times have  been  a  little  kinder.'' 

Shall  we  make  a  new  rule  of  life  from  to-night: 
always  to  try  to  be  a  little  kinder  than  is  necessary  ? 

Poor  youth,  she  would  come  to  the  window  if  she 
were  able,  I  am  sure,  to  sign  that  the  one  little  un- 
42 


A    NIGHT-PIECE 

kindness  is  long  forgotten,  to  send  you  a  reassur- 
ing smile  till  you  and  she  meet  again ;  and,  if  you 
are  not  to  meet  again,  still  to  send  you  a  reassur- 
ing, trembling  smile. 

Ah,  no,  that  was  for  yesterday;  it  is  too  late 
now.  He  wanders  the  streets  thinking  of  her  to- 
night, but  she  has  forgotten  him.  In  her  great 
hour  the  man  is  nothing  to  the  woman ;  their  love  is 
trivial  now. 

He  and  I  were  on  opposite  sides  of  the  street, 
now  become  familiar  ground  to  both  of  us,  and 
divers    pictures    rose    before    me    in    which    Mary 

A walked.  Here  was  the  morning  after  my 

only  entry  into  her  house.  The  agent  had  promised 
me  to  have  the  obnoxious  notice-board  removed, 
but  I  apprehended  that  as  soon  as  the  letter  an- 
nouncing his  intention  reached  her  she  would  re- 
move it  herself,  and  when  I  passed  by  in  the  morn- 
ing there  she  was  on  a  chair  and  a  foot-stool 
pounding  lustily  at  it  with  a  hammer.  When  it 
fell  she  gave  it  such  a  vicious  little  kick. 

There  were  the  nights  when  her  husband  came 
out  to  watch  for  the  postman.  I  suppose  he  was 
43 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

awaiting  some  letter  big  with  the  fate  of  a  picture. 
He  dogged  the  postman  from  door  to  door  Hke 
an  assassin  or  a  guardian  angel;  never  had  he 
the  courage  to  ask  if  there  was  a  letter  for  him, 
but  almost  as  it  fell  into  the  box  he  had  it  out 
and  tore  it  open,  and  then  if  the  door  closed  de- 
spairingly the  woman  who  had  been  at  the  window 
all  this  time  pressed  her  hand  to  her  heart.  But  if 
the  news  was  good  they  might  emerge  presently 
and  strut  off  arm  in  arm  in  the  direction  of  the 
pork  emporium. 

One  last  picture.  On  summer  evenings  I  had 
caught  glimpses  of  them  through  the  open  win- 
dow, when  she  sat  at  the  piano  singing  and  play- 
ing to  him.  Or  while  she  played  with  one  hand, 
she  flung  out  the  other  for  him  to  grasp.  She  was 
so  joyously  happy,  and  she  had  such  a  romantic 
mind.  I  conceived  her  so  sympathetic  that  she  al- 
ways laughed  before  he  came  to  the  joke,  and  I 
am  sure  she  had  filmy  eyes  from  the  very  start  of 
a  pathetic  story. 

And  so,  laughing  and  crying,  and  haunted  by 
whispers,  the  little  nursery  governess  had  grad- 


A    NIGHT-PIECE 

ually  become  another  woman,  glorified,  mysterious. 
I  suppose  a  man  soon  becomes  used  to  the  great 
change,  and  cannot  recall  a  time  when  there  were 
no  babes  sprawling  in  his  Mary's  face. 

I  am  trying  to  conceive  what  were  the  thoughts 
of  the  young  husband  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street.  "If  the  barrier  is  to  be  crossed  to-night 
may  I  not  go  with  her?  She  is  not  so  brave  as  you 
think  her.  When  she  talked  so  gaily  a  few  hours 
ago,  O  my  God,  did  she  deceive  even  you?" 

Plain  questions  to-night.  "Why  should  it  all  fall 
on  her?  What  is  the  man  that  he  should  be  flung 
out  into  the  street  in  this  terrible  hour?  You  have 
not  been  fair  to  the  man." 

Poor  boy,  his  wife  has  quite  forgotten  him  and 
his  trumpery  love.  If  she  lives  she  will  come  back 
to  him,  but  if  she  dies  she  will  die  triumphant 
and  serene.  Life  and  death,  the  child  and  the 
mother,  are  ever  meeting  as  the  one  draws  into 
harbour  and  the  other  sets  sail.  They  exchange  a 
bright  "All's  well"  and  pass  on. 

But  afterward? 

The  only  ghosts,  I  believe,  who  creep  into  this 
45 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

world,  are  dead  young  mothers,  returned  to  see  ho^ 
their  children  fare.  There  is  no  other  inducement 
great  enough  to  bring  the  departed  back.  They 
glide  into  the  acquainted  room  when  day  and 
night,  their  jailers,  are  in  the  grip,  and  whisper, 
"How  is  it  with  you,  my  child  .^"  but  always,  lest 
a  strange  face  should  frighten  him,  they  whisper 
it  so  low  that  he  may  not  hear.  They  bend  over  him 
to  see  that  he  sleeps  peacefully,  and  replace  his 
sweet  arm  beneath  the  coverlet,  and  they  open  the 
drawers  to  count  how  many  little  vests  he  has. 
They  love  to  do  these  things. 

What  is  saddest  about  ghosts  is  that  they 
may  not  know  their  child.  They  expect  him  to  be 
just  as  he  was  when  they  left  him,  and  they  are 
easily  bewildered,  and  search  for  him  from  room 
to  room,  and  hate  the  unknown  boy  he  has  become. 
Poor,  passionate  souls,  they  may  even  do  him  an 
injury.  These  are  the  ghosts  that  go  wailing  about 
old  houses,  and  foolish  wild  stories  are  invented  to 
explain  what  is  all  so  pathetic  and  simple.  I  know 
of  a  man  who,  after  wandering  far,  returned  to 
his  early  home  to  pass  the  evening  of  his  days  in 
46 


A   NIGHT-PIECE 

it,  and  sometimes  from  his  chair  by  the  fire  he  saw 
the  door  open  softly  and  a  woman's  face  appear. 
She  always  looked  at  him  very  vindictively,  and 
then  vanished.  Strange  things  happened  in  this 
house.  Windows  were  opened  in  the  night.  The  cur- 
tains of  his  bed  were  set  fire  to.  A  step  on  the  stair 
was  loosened.  The  covering  of  an  old  well  in  a  cor- 
ridor where  he  walked  was  cunningly  removed.  And 
when  he  fell  ill  the  wrong  potion  was  put  in  the 
glass  by  his  bedside,  and  he  died.  How  could  the 
pretty  young  mother  know  that  this  grizzled 
interloper  was  the  child  of  whom  she  was  in 
search  ? 

All  our  notions  about  ghosts  are  wrong.  It  is 
nothing  so  petty  as  lost  wills  or  deeds  of  violence 
that  brings  them  back,  and  we  are  not  nearly  so 
afraid  of  them  as  they  are  of  us. 

One  by  one  the  lights  of  the  street  went  out,  but 
still  a  lamp  burned  steadily  in  the  little  window 
across  the  way.  I  know  not  how  it  happened^ 
whether  I  had  crossed  first  to  him  or  he  to  me,  but, 
after  being  for  a  long  time  as  the  echo  of  each 
other's  steps,  we  were  together  now.  I  can  have  had 
47 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

no  desire  to  deceive  him, but  some  reason  was  needed 
to  account  for  my  vigil,  and  I  may  have  said  some- 
thing that  he  misconstrued,  for  above  my  words  he 
was  always  listening  for  other  sounds.  But  however 
it  came  about  he  had  conceived  the  Idea  that  I  was 
an  outcast  for  a  reason  similar  to  his  own,  and  I  let 
his  mistake  pass,  It  seemed  to  matter  so  little  and  to 
draw  us  together  so  naturally.  We  talked  together 
of  many  things,  such  as  worldly  ambition.  For  long 
ambition  has  been  like  an  ancient  memory  to  me, 
some  glorious  day  recalled  from  my  springtime,  so 
much  a  thing  of  the  past  that  I  must  make  a  rail- 
way journey  to  revisit  It  as  to  look  upon  the  pleas- 
ant fields  In  which  that  scene  was  laid.  But  he  had 
been  ambitious  yesterday. 

I  mentioned  worldly  ambition.  "Good  God!"  he 
said  with  a  shudder. 

There  was  a  clock  hard  by  that  struck  the  quar- 
ters, and  one  o'clock  passed  and  two.  What  time  is 
it  now?  Twenty  past  two.  And  now.?  It  is  still 
twenty  past  two. 

I  asked  him  about  his  relatives,  and  neither  he 
nor  she  had  any.  "We  have  a  friend — ^"  he  began 

48 


A    NIGHT-PIECE 

and  paused,  and  then  rambled  into  a  not  very  un- 
derstandable story  about  a  letter  and  a  doll's  house 
and  some  unknown  man  who  had  bought  one  of  his 
pictures,  or  was  supposed  to  have  done  so,  in  a 
curiously  clandestine  manner.  I  could  not  quite  fol- 
low the  story. 

"It  is  she  who  insists  that  it  is  always  the  same 
person,"  he  said.  "She  thinks  he  will  make  himself 
known  to  me  if  anything  happens  to  her."  His 
voice  suddenly  went  husky.  "She  told  me,"  he  said, 
"if  she  died  and  I  discovered  him,  to  give  him  her 
love." 

At  this  we  parted  abruptly,  as  we  did  at  intervals 
throughout  the  night,  to  drift  together  again  pres- 
ently. He  tried  to  tell  me  of  some  things  she  had 
asked  him  to  do  should  she  not  get  over  this,  but 
what  they  were  I  know  not,  for  they  engulfed  him 
at  the  first  step.  He  would  draw  back  from  them  as 
ill-omened  things,  and  next  moment  he  was  going 
over  them  to  himself  like  a  child  at  lessons.  A  child ! 
In  that  short  year  she  had  made  him  entirely  de- 
pendent on  her.  It  is  ever  thus  with  women:  their 
first  deliberate  act  is  to  make  their  husband  help- 
49 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

less.  There  are  few  men  happily  married  who  can 
knock  in  a  nail. 

But  it  was  not  of  this  that  I  was  thinking.  I  was 
wishing  I  had  not  degenerated  so  much. 

Well,  as  you  know,  the  little  nursery  governess 
did  not  die.  At  eighteen  minutes  to  four  we  heard 
the  rustle  of  David's  wings.  He  boasts  about  it  to 
this  day,  and  has  the  hour  to  a  syllable  as  if  the 
first  thing  he  ever  did  was  to  look  at  the  clock. 

An  oldish  gentleman  had  opened  the  door  and 
waved  congratulations  to  my  companion,  who  im- 
mediately butted  at  me,  drove  me  against  a  wall, 
hesitated  for  a  second  with  his  head  down  as  if  in 
doubt  whether  to  toss  me,  and  then  rushed  away.  I 
followed  slowly.  I  shook  him  by  the  hand,  but  by 
this  time  he  was  haw-haw-Ttaze'ing  so  abominably 
that  a  disgust  of  him  swelled  up  within  me,  and 
with  it  a  passionate  desire  to  jeer  once  more  at 
Mary  A 

"It  is  little  she  will  care  for  you  now,"  I  said  to 
the  fellow;  "I  know  the  sort  of  woman;  her  in^"=il- 
lectuals  (which  are  all  she  has  to  distinguish  her 
from  the  brutes)  are  so  imperfectly  develoj^ed  that 

£0 


A    NIGHT-PIECE 

she  will  be  a  crazy  thing  about  that  boy  for  the 
next  three  years.  She  has  no  longer  occasion  for 
you,  my  dear  sir;  you  are  like  a  picture  painted 
out." 

But  I  question  whether  he  heard  me.  I  returned 
to  my  home.  Home !  As  if  one  alone  can  build  a  nest. 
How  often  as  I  have  ascended  the  stairs  that  lead 
to  my  lonely,  sumptuous  rooms,  have  I  paused  to 
listen  to  the  hilarity  of  the  servants  below.  That 
morning  I  could  not  rest :  I  wandered  from  chamber 
to  chamber,  followed  by  my  great  dog,  and  all 
were  alike  empty  and  desolate.  I  had  nearly  finished 
a  cigar  when  I  thought  I  heard  a  pebble  strike  the 
window,  and  looking  out  I  saw  David's  father 
standing  beneath.  I  had  told  him  that  I  lived  in 
this  street,  and  I  suppose  my  lights  had  guided  hina 
to  my  window. 

"I  could  not  lie  down,"  he  called  up  hoarsely, 
"until  I  heard  your  news.  Is  it  all  right  ?" 

For  a  moment  I  failed  to  understand  him.  Then 
I  said  sourly :  "Yes,  all  is  right." 

"Both  doing  well?"  he  inquired. 

"Both,"  I  answered^  and  all  the  time  I  was  trg- 
51 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

ing  to  shut  the  window.  It  was  undoubtedly  a  kind- 
ly impulse  that  had  brought  him  out,  but  I  was 
nevertheless  in  a  passion  with  him. 

"Boy  or  girl?"  persisted  the  dodderer  with  un- 
gentlemanlike  curiosity. 

"Boy,"  I  said,  very  furiously. 

"Splendid,"  he  called  out,  and  I  think  he  added 
something  else,  but  by  that  time  I  had  closed  the 
window  with  a  slam. 


THE    FIGHT    FOR    TIMOTHY 

JliAIlY'S  poor  pretentious  babe  screamed  contin- 
ually, with  a  note  of  exultation  in  his  din,  as  if  he 
thought  he  was  devoting  himself  to  a  life  of  pleas- 
ure, and  often  the  last  sound  I  heard  as  I  got  me 
out  of  the  street  was  his  haw-hsiW-humy  delivered 
triumphantly  as  if  it  were  some  entirely  new  thing, 
though  he  must  have  learned  it  like  a  parrot.  I  had 
not  one  tear  for  the  woman,  but  Poor  father, 
thought  I;  to  know  that  every  time  your  son  is 
happy  you  are  betrayed.  Phew,  a  nauseous 
draught. 

I  have  the  acquaintance  of  a  deliciously  pretty 
girl,  who  is  always  sulky,  and  the  thoughtless  be- 
seech her  to  be  bright,  not  witting  wherein  lies  her 
heroism.  She  was  born  the  merriest  of  maids,  but, 
being  a  student  of  her  face,  learned  anon  that  sulki- 
ness  best  becomes  it,  and  so  she  has  struggled  and 
prevailed.  A  woman's  history.  Brave  Margaret, 
53 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

when  night  falls  and  thy  hair  is  down,  dost  thou 
return,  I  wonder,  to  thy  natural  state,  or,  dreading 
the  shadow  of  indulgence,  sleepest  thou  even  sul- 
kily? 

But  will  a  male  child  do  as  much  for  his  father? 
This  remains  to  be  seen,  and  so,  after  waiting  sev- 
eral months,  I  decided  to  buy  David  a  rocking- 
horse.  My  St.  Bernard  dog  accompanied  me, 
though  I  have  always  been  diffident  of  taking  him 
to  toy-shops,  which  over-excite  him.  Hitherto  the 
toys  I  had  bought  had  always  been  for  him,  and 
as  we  durst  not  admit  this  to  the  saleswoman  we 
were  both  horribly  self-conscious  when  in  the  shop. 
A  score  of  times  I  have  told  him  that  he  had  much 
better  not  come,  I  have  announced  fiercely  that  he 
is  not  to  come.  He  then  lets  go  of  his  legs,  which 
is  how  a  St,  Bernard  sits  down,  making  the  noise 
of  a  sack  of  coals  suddenly  deposited,  and,  laying 
his  head  between  his  front  paws,  stares  at  me 
through  the  red  haws  that  make  his  eyes  so  mourn- 
ful. He  will  do  this  for  an  hour  without  blinking, 
for  he  knows  that  in  time  it  will  unman  me.  My  dog 
knows  very  little,  but  what  little  he  does  know  he 

54 


THE    FIGHT    FOR    TIMOTHY 

knows  extraordinarily  well.  One  can  get  out  of  my 
chambers  by  a  back  way,  and  I  sometimes  steal 
softly — but  I  can't  help  looking  back,  and  there  he 
is,  and  there  are  those  haws  asking  sorrowfully, 
"Is  this  worthy  of  you?" 

"Curse  you,"  I  say,  "get  your  hat,"  or  words 
to  that  effect. 

He  has  even  been  to  the  club,  where  he  waddles 
up  the  stairs  so  exactly  like  some  respected  member 
that  he  makes  everybody  most  uncomfortable.  I 
forget  how  I  became  possessor  of  him.  I  think  I  cut 
him  out  of  an  old  number  of  Punch.  He  costs  me 
as  much  as  an  eight-roomed  cottage  in  the  country. 

He  was  a  full-grown  dog  when  I  first,  most  fool- 
ishly, introduced  him  to  toys.  I  had  bought  a  toy 
in  the  street  for  my  own  amusement.  It  represented 
a  woman,  a  young  mother,  flinging  her  little  son 
over  her  head  with  one  hand  and  catching  him  in 
the  other,  and  I  was  entertaining  myself  on  the 
hearth-rug  with  this  pretty  domestic  scene  when  I 
heard  an  unwonted  sound  from  Porthos,  and,  look- 
ing up,  I  saw  that  noble  and  melancholic  counte- 
nance on  the  broad  grin.  I  shuddered  and  was  for 
55 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

putting  the  toy  away  at  once,  but  he  sternly  struck 
down  my  arm  with  his,  and  signed  that  I  was  to 
continue.  The  unmanly  chuckle  always  came,  I 
found,  when  the  poor  lady  dropped  her  babe,  but 
the  whole  thing  entranced  him ;  he  tried  to  keep  his 
excitement  down  by  taking  huge  draughts  of 
water ;  he  forgot  all  his  niceties  of  conduct ;  he  sat 
in  holy  rapture  with  the  toy  between  his  paws,  took 
it  to  bed  with  him,  ate  it  in  the  night,  and  searched 
for  it  so  longingly  next  day  that  I  had  to  go 
out  and  buy  him  the  man  with  the  scythe.  After 
that  we  had  everything  of  note,  the  bootblack  boy, 
the  toper  with  bottle,  the  woolly  rabbit  that 
squeaks  when  you  hold  it  in  your  mouth;  they  all 
vanished  as  inexplicably  as  the  lady,  but  I  dared 
not  tell  him  my  suspicions,  for  he  suspected  also 
and  his  gentle  heart  would  have  mourned  had  I 
confirmed  his  fears. 

The  dame  in  the  temple  of  toys  which  we  fre- 
quent thinks  I  want  them  for  a  little  boy  and  calls 
him  "the  precious"  and  "the  lamb,"  the  while 
Porthos  is  standing  gravely  by  my  side.  She  is 
a  motherly  soul,  but  over-talkative. 

56 


THE    FIGHT    FOR    TIMOTHY 

"And  how  is  the  dear  lamb  to-day?"  she  begins, 
beaming. 

"Well,  ma'am,  well,"  I  say,  keeping  tight  grip 
of  his  collar. 

"This  blighty  weather  is  not  affecting  his  dar- 
ling appetite?" 

"No,  ma'am,  not  at  all."  (She  would  be  con- 
siderably surprised  if  informed  that  he  dined  to- 
day on  a  sheepshead,  a  loaf,  and  three  cabbages, 
and  is  suspected  of  a  leg  of  mutton. ) 

"I  hope  he  loves  his  toys?" 

"He  carries  them  about  with  him  everywhere, 
ma'am."  (Has  the  one  we  bought  yesterday  with 
him  now,  though  you  might  not  think  it  to  look  at 
him.) 

"What  do  you  say  to  a  box  of  tools  this 
time?" 

"I  think  notj  ma'am." 

"Is  the  deary  fond  of  digging?" 

"Very  partial  to  digging."  (We  shall  find  the 
leg  of  mutton  some  day.) 

"Then  perhaps  a  weeny  spade  and  a  pail?" 

She  got  me  to  buy  a  model  of  Canterbury 
57 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

Cathedral  once,  she  was  so  insistent,  and  Porthos 
gave  me  his  mind  about  it  when  we  got  home.  He 
detests  the  kindergarten  system,  and  as  she  is  ab- 
surdly prejudiced  in  its  favour  we  have  had  to  try 
other  shops.  We  went  to  the  Lowther  Arcade  for 
the  rocking-horse.  Dear  Lowther  Arcade !  Of ttimes 
have  we  wandered  agape  among  thy  enchanted 
palaces,  Porthos  and  I,  David  and  I,  David 
and  Porthos  and  I.  I  have  heard  that  thou 
art  vulgar,  but  I  cannot  see  how,  unless  it  be  that 
tattered  children  haunt  thy  portals,  those  awful  yet 
smiling  entrances  to  so  much  joy.  To  the  Arcade 
there  are  two  entrances,  and  with  much  to  be  sung 
in  laudation  of  that  which  opens  from  the  Strand 
I  yet  on  the  whole  prefer  the  other  as  the  more  truly 
romantic,  because  it  is  there  the  tattered  ones  con- 
gregate, waiting  to  see  the  Davids  emerge  with  the 
magic  lamp.  We  have  always  a  penny  for  them, 
and  I  have  known  them,  before  entering  the  Arcade 
with  it,  retire  (but  whither?)  to  wash;  surely  the 
prettiest  of  all  the  compliments  that  are  paid  to 
the  home  of  toys. 

V     And  now,  O  Arcade,  so  much  fairer  than  thy 

58 


THE    FIGHT    FOR    TIMOTHY 

West  End  brother,  we  are  told  that  thou  art 
doomed,  anon  to  be  turned  into  an  eatinghouse  or  a 
hive  for  usurers,  something  rankly  useful.  All  thy 
delights  are  under  notice  to  quit.  The  Noah's  arks 
are  packed  one  within  another,  with  clockwork 
horses  harnessed  to  them ;  the  soldiers,  knapsack  on 
back,  are  kissing  their  hands  to  the  dear  foolish 
girls,  who,  however,  will  not  be  left  behind  them ;  all 
the  four-footed  things  gather  around  the  elephant, 
who  is  overf ul  of  drawing-room  furniture ;  the  birds 
flutter  their  wings;  the  man  with  the  scythe  mows 
his  way  through  the  crowd;  the  balloons  tug  at 
their  strings ;  the  ships  rock  under  a  swell  of  sail, 
everything  is  getting  ready  for  the  mighty  exodus 
into  the  Strand.  Tears  will  be  shed. 

So  we  bought  the  horse  in  the  Lowther  Arcade, 
Porthos,  who  thought  it  was  for  him,  looking 
proud  but  uneasy,  and  it  was  sent  to  the  bandbox 
house  anonymously.  About  a  week  afterward  I  had 
the  ill-luck  to  meet  Mary's  husband  in  Kensington, 
so  I  asked  him  what  he  had  called  his  little  girl. 

"It  is  a  boy,"  he  replied,  with  intolerable  good' 
humour,  "we  call  him  David." 
59 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

And  then  with  a  singular  lack  of  taste  he  wanted 
the  name  of  my  boy. 

I  flicked  my  glove.  "Timothy,"  said  I. 

I  saw  a  suppressed  smile  on  his  face,  and  said 
hotly  that  Timothy  was  as  good  a  name  as  David. 
"I  like  it,"  he  assured  me,  and  expressed  a  hope  that 
they  would  become  friends.  I  boiled  to  say  that  I 
really  could  not  allow  Timothy  to  mix  with  boys  of 
the  David  class,  but  I  refrained,  and  listened  coldly 
while  he  told  me  what  David  did  when  you  said 
his  toes  were  pigs  going  to  market  or  returning 
from  it,  I  forget  which.  He  also  boasted  of  David's 
weight  (a  subject  about  which  we  are  uncommonly 
touchy  at  the  club),  as  if  children  were  for  throw- 
ing forth  for  a  wager. 

But  no  more  about  Timothy.  Gradually  this 
vexed  me.  I  felt  what  a  forlorn  little  chap  Timothy 
was,  with  no  one  to  say  a  word  for  him,  and  I  be- 
came his  champion  and  hinted  something  about 
teething,  but  withdrew  it  when  it  seemed  too  sur- 
prising, and  tried  to  get  on  to  safer  ground,  such 
as  bibs  and  general  intelligence,  but  the  painter 
fellow  was  so  willing  to  let  me  have  my  say,  and 
60 


THE    FIGHT    FOR    TIMOTHY 

knew  so  much  more  about  babies  than  is  fitting  for 
men  to  know,  that  I  paled  before  him  and  wondered 
why  the  deuce  he  was  listening  to  me  so  atten- 
tively. 

You  may  remember  a  story  he  had  told  me  about 
some  anonymous  friend.  "His  latest,"  said  he  now, 
"is  to  send  David  a  rocking-horse !" 

I  must  say  I  could  see  no  reason  for  his  mirth. 
"Picture  it,"  said  he,  "a  rocking-horse  for  a  child 
not  three  months  oldl" 

I  was  about  to  say  fiercely:  "The  stirrups  are 
adjustable,"  but  thought  it  best  to  laugh  with  him. 
But  I  was  pained  to  hear  that  Mary  had  laughed, 
though  heaven  knows  I  have  often  laughed  at  her. 

"But  women  are  odd,"  he  said  unexpectedly,  and 
explained.  It  appears  that  in  the  middle  of  her 
merriment  Mary  had  become  grave  and  said  to  him 
quite  haughtily,  "I  see  nothing  to  laugh  at."  Then 
she  had  kissed  the  horse  solemnly  on  the  nose  and 
said,  "I  wish  he  was  here  to  see  me  do  it."  There 
are  moments  when  one  cannot  help  feeling  a  draw- 
ing to  Mary. 

But  moments  only,  for  the  next  thing  he  said 
61 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

put  her  in  a  particularly  odious  light.  He  in- 
formed me  that  she  had  sworn  to  hunt  Mr.  Anon 
down. 

"She  won't  succeed,"  I  said,  sneering  but  ner- 
vous. 

"Then  it  will  be  her  first  failure,"  said  he. 

*'But  she  knows  nothing  about  the  man." 

"You  would  not  say  that  if  you  heard  her  talk- 
ing of  him.  She  says  he  is  a  gentle,  whimsical, 
lonely  old  bachelor." 

"Old?"  I  cried. 

"Well,  what  she  says  is  that  he  will  soon  be  old 
if  he  doesn't  take  care.  He  is  a  bachelor  at  all 
events,  and  is  very  fond  of  children,  but  has  never 
kad  one  to  play  with." 

"Could  not  play  with  a  child  though  there  was 
one,"  I  said  brusquely;  "has  forgotten  the  way; 
could  stand  and  stare  only." 

"Yes,  if  the  parents  were  present.  But  he  thinks 
that  if  he  were  alone  with  the  child  he  could  come 
out  strong." 

"How  the  deuce "  I  began 

"That  is  what  she  says,"  he  explained,  apolo- 
62 


THE    FIGHT    FOR    TIMOTHY 

getlcallj.  "I  think  she  will  prove  to  be  too  clever 
for  him." 

"Pooh,"  I  said,  but  undoubtedly  I  felt  a  dizzi- 
ness, and  the  next  time  I  met  him  he  quite  fright- 
ened me.  "Do  you  happen  to  know  any  one,"  he 
said,  "who  has  a  St.  Bernard  dog?" 

"No,"  said  I,  picking  up  my  stick. 

"He  has  a  St.  Bernard  dog." 

"How  have  you  found  that  out?" 

"She  has  found  it  out." 

"But  how.?" 

"I  don't  know." 

I  left  him  at  once,  for  Porthos  was  but  a  little 
way  behind  me.  The  mystery  of  it  scared  me,  but 
I  armed  promptly  for  battle.  I  engaged  a  boy  to 
walk  Porthos  in  Kensington  Gardens,  and  gave  him 
these  instructions:  "Should  you  find  yourself  fol- 
lowed by  a  young  woman  wheeling  a  second-hand 
perambulator,  instantly  hand  her  over  to  the 
police  on  the  charge  of  attempting  to  steal  the 
dog." 

Now  then,  Mary. 

*^By  the  way,"  her  husband  said  at  our  next 
63 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

meeting,  "that  rocking-horse  I  told  you  of  cost 
three  guineas." 

"She  has  gone  to  the  shop  to  ask?" 

"No,  not  to  ask  that,  but  for  a  description  of 
the  purchaser's  appearance." 

Oh,  Mary,  Mary. 

Here  is  the  appearance  of  purchaser  as  sup- 
plied at  the  Arcade : — looked  like  a  military  gentle- 
man ;  tall,  dark,  and  rather  dressy ;  fine  Roman  nose 
(quite  so),  carefully  trimmed  moustache  going  grey 
(not  at  all)  ;  hair  thin  and  thoughtfully  distrib- 
uted over  the  head  like  fiddlestrings,  as  if  to  make 
the  most  of  it  (pah!)  ;  dusted  chair  with  handker- 
chief before  sitting  down  on  it,  and  had  other  old- 
maidish  ways  (I  should  like  to  know  what  they 
are);  tediously  polite,  but  no  talker;  bored  face; 
age  forty-five  if  a  day  (a  lie)  ;  was  accompanied 
by  an  enormous  yellow  dog  with  sore  eyes.  (They 
always  think  the  haws  are  sore  eyes.) 

"Do  you  know  anyone  who  is  like  that?"  Mary's 
husband  asked  me  innocently. 

"My  dear  man,"  I  said,  "I  know  almost  no  one 
who  is  not  like  that,"  and  it  was  true,  so  like  each 

64 


THE    FIGHT    FOR    TIMOTHY 

other  do  we  grow  at  the  club.  I  was  pleased,  on  the 
whole,  with  this  talk,  for  it  at  least  showed  me  how 
she  had  come  to  know  of  the  St.  Bernard,  but  anx- 
iety returned  when  one  day  from  behind  my  cur- 
tains I  saw  Mary  in  my  street  with  an  inquiring 
eye  on  the  windows.  She  stopped  a  nurse  who  was 
carrying  a  baby  and  went  into  pretended  ecstasies 
over  it.  I  was  sure  she  also  asked  whether  by  any 
chance  it  was  called  Timothy.  And  if  not,  whether 
that  nurse  knew  any  other  nurse  who  had  charge 
of  a  Timothy. 

Obviously  Mary  suspicioned  me,  but  nevertheless, 
I  clung  to  Timothy,  though  I  wished  fervently  that 
I  knew  more  about  him ;  for  I  still  met  that  other 
father  occasionally,  and  he  always  stopped  to  com- 
pare notes  about  the  boys.  And  the  questions  he 
asked  were  so  intimate,  how  Timothy  slept,  how  he 
woke  up,  how  he  fell  off  again,  what  we  put  in  his 
bath.  It  is  well  that  dogs  and  little  boys  have  so 
much  in  common,  for  it  was  really  of  Porthos  I 
told  him;  how  he  slept  (peacefully),  how  he  woke 
up  (supposed  to  be  subject  to  dreams),  how  he 
fell  off  again  (with  one  little  hand  on  his  nose), 
65 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

but  I  glided  past  what  we  put  in  his  bath  (carbolic 
and  a  mop). 

The  man  had  not  the  least  suspicion  of  me,  and 
I  thought  it  reasonable  to  hope  that  Mary  would 
prove  as  generous.  Yet  was  I  straitened  in  my  mind. 
For  it  might  be  that  she  was  only  biding  her  time 
to  strike  suddenly,  and  this  attached  me  the  more 
to  Timothy,  as  if  I  feared  she  might  soon  snatch 
him  from  me.  As  was  indeed  to  be  the  case. 


66 


VI 

A    SHOCK 

J.T  was  on  a  May  day,  and  I  saw  Mary  accompany 
her  husband  as  far  as  the  first  crossing,  whence  she 
waved  him  out  of  sight  as  if  he  had  boarded  an 
Atlantic-liner.  All  this  time  she  wore  the  face  of 
a  woman  happily  married  who  meant  to  go  straight 
home,  there  to  await  her  lord's  glorious  return ;  and 
the  military-looking  gentleman  watching  her  with 
a  bored  smile  saw  nothing  better  before  him  than 
a  chapter  on  the  Domestic  Felicities.  Oh,  Mary,  can 
you  not  provide  me  with  the  tiniest  little  plot? 

Hallo! 

No  sooner  was  she  hid  from  him  than  she 
changed  into  another  woman;  she  was  now  become 
a  calculating  purposeful  madam,  who  looked 
around  her  covertly  and,  having  shrunk  in  size  in 
order  to  appear  less  noticeable,  set  off  nervously 
on  some  mysterious  adventure. 

67 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

"The  deuce!"  thought  I,  and  followed  her. 

Like  one  anxious  to  keep  an  appointment,  she 
frequently  consulted  her  watch,  looking  long  at  it, 
as  if  it  were  one  of  those  watches  that  do  not 
give  up  their  secret  until  you  have  made  a  mental 
calculation.  Once  she  kissed  it.  I  had  always  known 
that  she  was  fond  of  her  cheap  little  watch,  which 
he  gave  her,  I  think,  on  the  day  I  dropped  the 
letter,  but  why  kiss  it  in  the  street?  Ah,  and  why 
then  replace  it  so  hurriedly  in  your  leather-belt, 
Mary,  as  if  it  were  guilt  to  you  to  kiss  to-day,  or 
any  day,  the  watch  your  husband  gave  you.? 

It  will  be  seen  that  I  had  made  a  very  rapid 
journey  from  light  thoughts  to  uneasiness.  I 
wanted  no  plot  by  the  time  she  reached  her  desti- 
nation, a  street  of  tawdry  shops.  She  entered  none 
of  them,  but  paced  slowly  and  shrinking  from  ol> 
servation  up  and  down  the  street,  a  very  figure  of 
shame;  and  never  had  I  thought  to  read  shame  in 

the  sweet  face  of  Mary  A .  Had  I  crossed  to 

her  and  pronounced  her  name  I  think  it  would  have 
felled  her,  and  yet  she  remained  there,  waiting. 
I,  too,  was  waiting  for  him,  wondering  if  this  was 

68 


A    SHOCK 

the  man,  or  this,  or  this,  and  I  believe  I  clutched 
my  stick. 

Did  I  suspect  Mary?  Oh,  surely  not  for  a  mo- 
ment of  time.  But  there  was  some  foolishness  here ; 
she  was  come  without  the  knowledge  of  her  hus- 
band, as  her  furtive  manner  indicated,  to  a  meeting 
she  dreaded  and  was  ashamed  to  tell  him  of ;  she  was 
come  into  danger ;  then  it  must  be  to  save,  not  her- 
self but  him ;  the  folly  to  be  concealed  could  never 
have  been  Mary's.  Yet  what  could  have  happened 
in  the  past  of  that  honest  boy  from  the  conse- 
quences of  which  she  might  shield  him  by  skulking 
here?  Could  that  laugh  of  his  have  survived  a  dis- 
honour? The  open  forehead,  the  curly  locks,  the 
pleasant  smile,  the  hundred  ingratiating  ways 
which  we  carry  with  us  out  of  childhood,  they 
may  all  remain  when  the  innocence  has  fled,  but 
surely  the  laugh  of  the  morning  of  life  must  go. 
I  have  never  known  the  devil  retain  his  grip  on 
that. 

But  Mary  was  still  waiting.  She  was  no  longer 
beautiful;  shame  had  possession  of  her  face,  she 
was  an  ugly  woman.  Then  the  entanglement  was 
69 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

her  husband's,  and  I  cursed  him  for  it.  But  without 
conviction,  for,  after  all,  what  did  I  know  of 
women?  I  have  some  distant  memories  of  them, 
some  vain  inventions.  But  of  men — I  have  known 
one  man  indifferent  well  for  over  forty  years,  have 
exulted  in  him  (odd  to  think  of  it),  shuddered  at 
him,  wearied  of  him,  been  willing  (God  forgive 
me)  to  jog  along  with  him  tolerantly  long  after  I 
have  found  him  out;  I  know  something  of  men, 
and,  on  my  soul,  boy,  I  believe  I  am  wronging  you. 

Then  Mary  is  here  for  some  innocent  purpose, 
to  do  a  good  deed  that  were  better  undone,  as  it  so 
scares  her.  Turn  back,  you  foolish,  soft  heart,  and 
I  shall  say  no  more  about  it.  Obstinate  one,  you  saw 
the  look  on  your  husband's  face  as  he  left  you.  It 
is  the  studio  light  by  which  he  paints  and  still  sees 
to  hope,  despite  all  the  disappointments  of  his  not 
ignoble  ambitions.  That  light  is  the  dower  you 
brought  him,  and  he  is  a  wealthy  man  if  it  does 
not  flicker. 

So  anxious  to  be  gone,  and  yet  she  would  not 
go.  Several  times  she  made  little  darts,  as  if  at 
last  resolved  to  escape  from  that  detestable  street, 

70 


A   SHOCK 

and  faltered  and  returned  like  a  bird  to  the  weasel. 
Again  she  looked  at  her  watch  and  kissed  it. 

Oh,  Mary,  take  flight.  What  madness  is  this? 
Woman,  be  gone. 

Suddenly  she  was  gone.  With  one  mighty  effort 
and  a  last  terrified  look  round,  she  popped  into  a 
pawnshop. 

Long  before  she  emerged  I  understood  it  all,  I 
think  even  as  the  door  rang  and  closed  on  her ;  why 
the  timid  soul  had  sought  a  street  where  she  was 
unknown,  why  she  crept  so  many  times  past  that 
abhorred  shop  before  desperately  venturing  in,  why 
she  looked  so  often  at  the  watch  she  might  never 
see  again.  So  desperately  cumbered  was  Mary  to 
keep  her  little  house  over  her  head,  and  yet  the 
brave  heart  was  retaining  a  smiling  face  for  her 
husband,  who  must  not  even  know  where  her  little 
treasures  were  going. 

It  must  seem  monstrously  cruel  of  me,  but  I  was 
now  quite  light-hearted  again.  Even  when  Mary 
fled  from  the  shop  where  she  had  left  her  watch, 
and  I  had  peace  of  mind  to  note  how  thin  and 
worn  she  had  become,  as  if  her  baby  was  grown 
71 


THE   LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

too  big  for  lier  slight  arms,  even  then  I  was  light- 
hearted.  Without  attempting  to  follow  her,  I  saun- 
tered homeward  humming  a  snatch  of  song  with 
a  great  deal  of  f al-de-lal-de-riddle-o  in  it,  for  I  can 
never  remember  words.  I  saw  her  enter  another 
shop,  baby  linen  shop  or  some  nonsense  of  that  sort, 
so  it  was  plain  for  what  she  had  popped  her  watch ; 
but  what  cared  I .?  I  continued  to  sing  most  beauti- 
fully. I  lunged  gayly  with  my  stick  at  a  lamp-post 
and  missed  it,  whereat  a  street-urchin  grinned,  and 
I  winked  at  him  and  slipped  two-pence  down  his 
back. 

I  presume  I  would  have  chosen  the  easy  way  had 
time  been  given  me,  but  fate  willed  that  I  should 
meet  the  husband  on  his  homeward  journey,  and 
his  first  remark  inspired  me  to  a  folly. 

"How  is  Timothy?"  he  asked;  and  the  question 
opened  a  way  so  attractive  that  I  think  no  one 
whose  dull  life  craves  for  colour  could  have  resisted 
it. 

"He  is  no  more,"  I  replied  impulsively. 

The  painter  was  so  startled  that  he  gave  utter- 
72 


A    SHOCK 

ance  to  a  very  oath  of  pity,  and  I  felt  a  sinking 
myself,  for  in  these  hasty  words  my  little  boy  was 
gone,  indeed ;  all  my  bright  dreams  of  Timothy,  all 
my  efforts  to  shelter  him  from  Mary's  scorn,  went 
whistling  down  the  wind. 


73 


vn 

THE    I^AST    OF    TIMOTHY 

fe  O  accomplished  a  person  as  the  reader  must  have 
seen  at  once  that  I  made  away  with  Timothy  in 
order  to  give  his  Httle  vests  and  pinafores  and  shoes 
to  David,  and,  therefore,  dear  sir  or  madam,  rail 
not  overmuch  at  me  for  causing  our  painter  pain. 
Know,  too,  that  though  his  sympathy  ran  free  I 
soon  discovered  many  of  his  inquiries  to  be 
prompted  by  a  mere  selfish  desire  to  save  his  boy 
from  the  fate  of  mine.  Such  are  parents. 

He  -asked  compassionately  if  there  was  anything 
he  could  do  for  me,  and,  of  course,  there  was  some- 
thing he  could  do,  but  were  I  to  propose  it  I 
doubted  not  he  would  be  on  his  stilts  at  once,  for 
already  I  had  reason  to  know  him  for  a  haughty, 
sensitive  dog,  who  ever  became  high  at  the  first  hint 
of  help.  So  the  proposal  must  come  from  him.  I 
spoke  of  the  many  little  things  in  the  house  that 
74 


THE    LAST    OF    TIMOTHY 

were  now  hurtful  to  me  to  look  upon,  and  he 
clutched  my  hand,  deeply  moved,  though  it  was  an- 
other house  with  its  little  things  he  saw.  I  was 
ashamed  to  harass  him  thus,  but  he  had  not  a  suf- 
ficiency of  the  little  things,  and  besides  my  im- 
pulsiveness had  plunged  me  into  a  deuce  of  a  mess, 
so  I  went  on  distastefully.  Was  there  no  profession 
in  this  age  of  specialism  for  taking  away  children's 
garments  from  houses  where  they  were  suddenly  be- 
come a  pain?  Could  I  sell  them?  Could  I  give  them 
to  the  needy,  who  would  probably  dispose  of  them 
for  gin  ?  I  told  him  of  a  friend  with  a  young  child 
who  had  already  refused  them  because  it  would  be 
unpleasant  to  him  to  be  reminded  of  Timothy,  and 
I  think  this  was  what  touched  him  to  the  quick,  so 
that  he  made  the  offer  I  was  waiting  for. 

I  had  done  it  with  a  heavy  foot,  and  by  this 
time  was  in  a  rage  with  both  him  and  myself,  but 
I  always  was  a  bungler,  and,  having  adopted  this 
means  in  a  hurry,  I  could  at  the  time  see  no  other 
easy  way  out.  Timothy's  hold  on  life,  as  you  may 
have  apprehended,  was  ever  of  the  slightest,  and  I 
suppose  I  always  knew  that  he  must  soon  revert  to 
75 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

the  obscure.  He  could  never  have  penetrated  into 
the  open.  It  was  no  Hfe  for  a  boy. 

Yet  now,  that  his  time  had  come,  I  was  loath  to 
see  him  go.  I  seem  to  remember  carrying  him  that 
evening  to  the  window  with  uncommon  tenderness 
(following  the  setting  sun  that  was  to  take  him 
away),  and  telling  him  with  not  unnatural  bitter- 
ness that  he  had  got  to  leave  me  because  another 
child  was  in  need  of  all  his  pretty  things;  and  as 
the  sun,  his  true  father,  lapt  him  in  its  dancing 
arms,  he  sent  his  love  to  a  lady  of  long  ago  whom 
he  called  by  the  sweetest  of  names,  not  knowing  in 
his  innocence  that  the  little  white  birds  are  the 
birds  that  never  have  a  mother.  I  wished  (so  had 
the  phantasy  of  Timothy  taken  possession  of  me) 
that  before  he  went  he  could  have  played  once  in 
the  Kensington  Gardens,  and  have  ridden  on  the 
fallen  trees,  calling  gloriously  to  me  to  look;  that 
he  could  have  sailed  one  paper-galleon  on  the 
Round  Pond ;  fain  would  I  have  had  him  chase  one 
hoop  a  little  way  down  the  laughing  avenues  of 
childhood,  where  memory  tells  us  we  run  but  once, 
on  a  long  summer-day,  emerging  at  the  other  end 
76 


THE    LAST    OF    TIMOTHY 

as  men  and  women  with  all  the  fun  to  pay  for; 
and  I  think  (thus  fancy  wantons  with  me  in  these 
desolate  chambers)  he  knew  my  longings,  and  said 
with  a  boy-like  flush  that  the  reason  he  never  did 
these  things  was  not  that  he  was  afraid,  for  he 
would  have  loved  to  do  them  all,  but  because  he  was 
not  quite  like  other  boys ;  and,  so  saying,  he  let  go 
my  finger  and  faded  from  before  my  eyes  into  an- 
other and  golden  ether;  but  I  shall  ever  hold  that 
had  he  been  quite  like  other  boys  there  would  have 
been  none  braver  than  my  Timothy. 

I  fear  I  am  not  truly  brave  myself,  for  though 
when  under  fire,  so  far  as  I  can  recollect,  I  behaved 
as  others,  morally  I  seem  to  be  deficient.  So  I  dis- 
covered next  day  when  I  attempted  to  buy  David's 
outfit,  and  found  myself  as  shy  of  entering  the 
shop  as  any  Mary  at  the  pawnbroker's.  The  shop 
for  little  garments  seems  very  alarming  when  you 
reach  the  door;  a  man  abruptly  become  a  parent, 
and  thus  lost  to  a  finer  sense  of  the  proprieties,  may 
be  able  to  stalk  in  unprotected,  but  apparently  I 
could  not.  Indeed,  I  have  allowed  a  repugnance  to 
entering  shops  of  any  kind,  save  my  tailor's,  to 

77 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

grow  on  mcj  and  to  my  tailor's  I  fear  I  go  too  fre- 
quently. 

So  I  skulked  near  the  shop  of  the  little  gar- 
ments, jeering  at  myself,  and  it  was  strange  to  me 
to  reflect  at,  say,  three  o'clock  that  if  I  had  been 
brazen  at  half-past  two  all  would  now  be  over. 

To  show  what  was  my  state,  take  the  case  of  the 
very  gentleman-like  man  whom  I  detected  gazing 
fixedly  at  me,  or  so  I  thought,  just  as  I  had  drawn 
valiantly  near  the  door.  I  sauntered  away,  but  when 
I  returned  he  was  still  there,  which  seemed  conclu- 
sive proof  that  he  had  smoked  my  purpose.  Sternly 
controlling  my  temper  I  bowed,  and  said  with  icy 
politeness,  "You  have  the  advantage  of  me,  sir." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  and  I  am  now  per- 
suaded that  my  words  turned  his  attention  to  me 
for  the  first  time,  but  at  the  moment  I  was  sure 
some  impertinent  meaning  lurked  behind  his 
answer. 

"I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  your  acquaintance," 
I  barked. 

"No  one  regrets  it  more  than  I  do,"  he  replied, 
laughing. 

78 


THE    LAST    OF    TIMOTHY 

"I  mean,  sir,"  said  I,  "that  I  shall  wait  here  until 
you  retire,"  and  with  that  I  put  my  back  to  a  shop- 
window. 

By  this  time  he  was  grown  angry,  and  said  he, 
"I  have  no  engagement,"  and  he  put  his  back  to 
the  shop-window.  Each  of  us  was  doggedly  deter- 
mined to  tire  the  other  out,  and  we  must  have 
looked  ridiculous.  We  also  felt  it,  for  ten  minutes 
afterward,  our  passions  having  died  away,  we 
shook  hands  cordially  and  agreed  to  call  hansoms. 

Must  I  abandon  the  enterprise  ?  Certainly  I  knew 
divers  ladies  who  would  make  the  purchases  for  me, 
but  first  I  must  explain,  and,  rather  than  explain 
it  has  ever  been  my  custom  to  do  without.  I  was  in 
this  despondency  when  a  sudden  recollection  of 
Irene  and  Mrs.  Kicking  heartened  me  like  a  cor- 
dial, for  I  saw  in  them  at  once  the  engine  and  decoy 
by  which  David  should  procure  his  outfit. 

You  must  be  told  who  they  were. 


79 


VIII 

THE    INCONSIDERATE    WAITER 

A  HEY  were  the  family  of  William,  one  of  our 
club  waiters  who  had  been  disappointing  me  griev- 
ously of  late.  Many  a  time  have  I  deferred  dining 
several  minutes  that  I  might  have  the  attendance  of 
this  ingrate.  His  efforts  to  reserve  the  window-table 
for  me  were  satisfactory,  and  I  used  to  allow  him 
privileges,  as  to  suggest  dishes;  I  have  given  liim 
information,  as  that  someone  had  startled  me  in  the 
reading-room  by  slamming  a  door;  I  have  shown 
him  how  I  cut  my  finger  with  a  piece  of  string. 
William  was  none  of  your  assertive  waiters.  We 
could  have  plotted  a  murder  safely  before  him.  It 
was  one  member  who  said  to  him  that  Saucy  Sarah 
would  win  the  Derby  and  another  who  said  that 
Saucy  Sarah  had  no  chance,  but  it  was  William 
who  agreed  with  both.  The  excellent  fellow  (as  I 
thought  him)  was  like  a  cheroot  which  may  be 
smoked  from  either  end. 

I  date  his  lapse  from  one  evening  when  I  was 
80 


INCONSIDERATE    WAITER 

dining  by  the  window.  I  had  to  repeat  my  order 
"Devilled  kidney,"  and  instead  of  answering 
brightly,  "Yes,  sir,"  as  if  my  selection  of  devilled 
kidney  was  a  personal  gratification  to  him,  which 
is  the  manner  one  expects  of  a  waiter,  he  gazed 
eagerly  out  at  the  window,  and  then,  starting, 
asked,  "Did  you  say  devilled  kidney,  sir?"  A  few 
minutes  afterward  I  became  aware  that  someone 
was  leaning  over  the  back  of  my  chair,  and  you 
may  conceive  my  indignation  on  discovering  that 
this  rude  person  was  William.  Let  me  tell,  in  the 
measured  words  of  one  describing  a  past  incident, 
what  next  took  place.  To  get  nearer  the  window 
he  pressed  heavily  on  my  shoulder.  "William,"  I 
said,  "you  are  not  attending  to  me !" 

To  be  fair  to  him,  he  shook,  but  never  shall  I 
forget  his  audacious  apology,  "Beg  pardon,  sir, 
but  I  was  thinking  of  something  else." 

And  immediately  his  eyes  resought  the  window, 
and  this  burst  from  him  passionately,  "For  God's 
sake,  sir,  as  we  are  man  and  man,  tell  me  if  you 
have  seen  a  little  girl  looking  up  at  the  club-win- 
dows." 

81 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

Man  and  man!  But  he  had  been  a  good  waiter 
once,  so  I  pointed  out  the  girl  t^  him.  As  soon  as 
she  saw  William  she  ran  into  the  middle  of  Pall 
Mall,  regardless  of  hansoms  (many  of  which 
seemed  to  pass  over  her),  nodded  her  head  signifi- 
cantly three  times  and  then  disappeared  (prob- 
ably on  a  stretcher).  She  was  the  tawdriest  little 
Arab  of  about  ten  years,  but  seemed  to  have 
brought  relief  to  William.  "Thank  God!"  said  he 
fervently,  and  in  the  worst  taste. 

I  was  as  much  horrified  as  if  he  had  dropped  a 
plate  on  my  toes.  "Bread,  William,"  I  said  sharply. 

"You  are  not  vexed  with  me,  sir.'"'  he  had  the 
hardihood  to  whisper. 

"It  was  a  liberty,"  I  said. 

"I  know,  sir,  but  I  was  beside  myself." 

"That  was  a  liberty  again." 

"It  is  my  wife,  sir,  she " 

So  William,  whom  I  had  favoured  in  so  many 
ways,  was  a  married  man.  I  felt  that  this  was  the 
greatest  liberty  of  all. 

I  gathered  that  the  troublesome  woman  was  ail- 
ing, and  as  one  who  likes  after  dinner  to  believe 
82 


INCONSIDERATE    WAITER 

that  there  is  no  distress  in  the  world,  I  desired  to 
be  told  by  William  that  the  signals  meant  her  re- 
turn to  health.  He  answered  inconsiderately,  how- 
ever, that  the  doctor  feared  the  worst. 

"Bah,  the  doctor,"  I  said  in  a  rage. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  William. 

"What  is  her  confounded  ailment?" 

"She  was  alius  one  of  the  delicate  kind,  but  full 
of  spirit,  and  you  see,  sir,  she  has  had  a  baby-girl 
lately " 

"William,  how  dare  you,"  I  said,  but  in  the  same 
moment  I  saw  that  this  father  might  be  useful  to 
me.  "How  does  your  baby  sleep,  William  ?"  I  asked 
in  a  low  voice,  "how  does  she  wake  up?  what  do 
you  put  in  her  bath?" 

I  saw  surprise  in  his  face,  so  I  hurried  on  with- 
out waiting  for  an  answer.  "That  little  girl  comes 
here  with  a  message  from  your  wife?" 

"Yes,  sir,  every  evening;  she's  my  eldest,  and 
three  nods  from  her  means  that  the  missus  is  a  little 
better." 

"There  were  three  nods  to-day?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

83 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

"I  suppose  you  live  in  some  low  part,  William  ?" 

The  impudent  fellow  looked  as  if  he  could  have 
struck  me.  "Off  Drury  Lane,"  he  said,  flushing, 
"but  it  isn't  low.  And  now,"  he  groaned,  "she's 
af  eared  she  will  die  without  my  being  there  to  hold 
her  hand." 

"She  should  not  say  such  things." 

"She  never  says  them,  sir.  She  alius  pretends 
to  be  feeling  stronger.  But  I  knows  what  is  in  her 
mind  when  I  am  leaving  the  house  in  the  morning, 
for  then  she  looks  at  me  from  her  bed,  and  I  looks  at 
her  from  the  door — oh,  my  God,  sir !" 

"Wilham!" 

At  last  he  saw  that  I  was  angry,  and  it  was 
characteristic  of  him  to  beg  my  pardon  and  with- 
draw his  wife  as  if  she  were  some  unsuccessful  dish. 
I  tried  to  forget  his  vulgar  story  in  billiards,  but 
he  had  spoiled  my  game,  and  next  day  to  punish 
him  I  gave  my  orders  through  another  waiter.  As 
I  had  the  window-seat,  however,  I  could  not  but  see 
that  the  little  girl  was  late,  and  though  this  mat- 
tered nothing  to  me  and  I  had  finished  my  dinner, 
I  lingered  till  she  came.  She  not  only  nodded  three 

84 


INCONSIDERATE    WAITER 

times  but  waved  her  hat,  and  I  arose,  having  now 
finished  my  dinner. 

William  came  stealthily  toward  me.  "Her  tem- 
perature has  gone  down,  sir,"  he  said,  rubbing  his 
hands  together. 

"To  whom  are  you  referring?"  I  asked  coldly, 
and  retired  to  the  billiard-room,  where  I  played  a 
capital  game. 

I  took  pains  to  show  William  that  I  had  for- 
gotten his  maunderings,  but  I  observed  the  girl 
nightly,  and  once,  instead  of  nodding,  she  shook 
her  head,  and  that  evening  I  could  not  get  into 
a  pocket.  Next  evening  there  was  no  William  in  the 
dining-room,  and  I  thought  I  knew  what  had  hap- 
pened. But,  chancing  to  enter  the  library  rather 
miserably,  I  was  surprised  to  see  him  on  a  ladder 
dusting  books.  We  had  the  room  practically  to  our- 
selves, for  though  several  members  sat  on  chairs 
holding  books  in  their  hands  they  were  all  asleep, 
and  William  descended  the  ladder  to  tell  me  his 
blasting  tale.  He  had  sworn  at  a  member ! 

"I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing  all  day,  sir, 

for  I  had  left  her  so  weakly  that " 

85 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

I  stamped  my  foot. 

"I  heg  your  pardon  for  speaking  of  her,"  he 
had  the  grace  to  say.  "But  Irene  had  promised  to 
come  every  two  hours;  and  when  she  came  about 
four  o'clock  and  I  saw  she  was  crying,  it  sort  of 
Winded  me,  sir,  and  I  stumbled  against  a  member, 

Mr.  B ,  and  he  said,  'Damn  you!'  Well,  sir,  I 

had  but  touched  him  after  all,  and  I  was  so  broken 
it  sort  of  stung  me  to  be  treated  so  and  I  lost  my 
senses,  and  I  said,  'Damn  you!*  " 

His  shamed  head  sank  on  his  chest,  and  I  tliink 
some  of  the  readers  shuddered  in  their  sleep. 

"I  was  turned  out  of  the  dining-room  at  once, 
and  sent  here  until  the  committee  have  decided  what 
to  do  with  me.  Oh,  sir,  I  am  willing  to  go  on  my 
knees  to  Mr.  B " 

How  could  I  but  despise  a  fellow  who  would  be 
thus  abject  for  a  pound  a  week.? 

"For  if  I  have  to  tell  her  I  have  lost  my  place 
she  will  just  fall  back  and  die." 

"I  forbid  your  speaking  to  me  of  that  woman," 
I  cried  wryly,  "unless  you  can  speak  pleasantly," 
and  I  left  him  to  his  fate  and  went  off  to  look  for 


INCONSIDERATE    WAITER 

B .  "What  is  this  story  about  your  swearing 

at  one  of  the  waiters  ?"  I  asked  him. 

"You  mean  about  his  swearing  at  me,"  said 
B ,  reddening. 

"I  am  glad  that  was  it,"  I  said,  "for  I  could 
not  believe  you  guilty  of  such  bad  form.  The  ver- 
sion which  reached  me  was  that  you  swore  at  each 
other,  and  that  he  was  to  be  dismissed  and  you 
reprimanded." 

"Who  told  you  that?"  asked  B ,  who  is  a 

timid  man. 

"I  am  on  the  committee,"  I  replied  lightly,  and 
proceeded  to  talk  of  other  matters,  but  presently 

B ,  who  had  been  reflecting,  said:   "Do  you 

know  I  fancy  I  was  wrong  in  thinking  that  the 
waiter  swore  at  me,  and  I  shall  withdraw  the  charge 
to-morrow." 

I  was  pleased  to  find  that  William's  troubles  were 
near  an  end  without  my  having  to  interfere  in  his 
behalf,  and  I  then  remembered  that  he  would  not 
be  able  to  see  the  girl  Irene  from  the  library  win- 
dows, which  are  at  the  back  of  the  club.  I  was  look- 
ing down  at  her,  but  she  refrained  from  signalling 
87 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

because  she  could  not  see  William,  and  irritated 
bj  her  stupidity  I  went  out  and  asked  her  how  her 
mother  was. 

"My,"  she  ejaculated  after  a  long  scrutiny 
of  me,  "I  b'lieve  you  are  one  of  them!"  and  she 
gazed  at  me  with  delighted  awe.  I  suppose  William 
tells  them  of  our  splendid  doings. 

The  invalid,  it  appeared,  was  a  bit  better,  and 
this  annoying  child  wanted  to  inform  William  that 
she  had  took  all  the  tapiocar.  She  was  to  indicate 
this  by  licking  an  imaginary  plate  in  the  middle 
of  Pall  Mall.  I  gave  the  little  vulgarian  a  shilling, 
and  returned  to  the  club  disgusted. 

"By  the  way,  William,"  I  said,  "Mr.  B Is 

to  inform  the  committee  that  he  was  mistaken  in 
thinking  you  used  improper  language  to  him,  so 
you  will  doubtless  be  restored  to  the  dining-room 
to-morrow." 

I  had  to  add  immediately,  "Remember  your 
place,  William." 

"But  Mr.  B knows  I  swore,"  he  insisted. 

"A  gentleman,"  I  replied  stiffly,  "cannot  remem- 
ber for  many  hours  what  a  waiter  has  said  to  him.'* 

88 


INCONSIDERATE    WAITER 

"No,  sir,  but " 

To  stop  him  I  had  to  say,  "And — ah — William, 
your  wife  is  decidedly  better.  She  has  eaten  the 
tapioca — all  of  it." 

"How  can  you  know,  sir.?" 

"By  an  accident." 

"Irene  signed  to  the  window?" 

"No." 

"Then  you  saw  her  and  went  out  and " 

"How  dare  you,  William?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  to  do  that  for  me !  May  God  bl " 

"Wilham." 

He  was  reinstated  in  the  dining-room,  but  often 
when  I  looked  at  him  I  seemed  to  see  a  dying  wife 
in  his  face,  and  so  the  relations  between  us  were 
still  strained.  But  I  watched  the  girl,  and  her  pan- 
tomime was  so  illuminating  that  I  knew  the  sufferer 
had  again  cleaned  the  platter  on  Tuesday,  had 
attempted  a  boiled  egg  on  Wednesday  (you  should 
have  seen  Irene  chipping  it  in  Pall  Mall,  and 
putting  in  the  salt),  but  was  in  a  woful  state  of 
relapse  on  Thursday. 

"Is  your  mother  very  ill  to-day,  Miss  Irene?" 
89 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

I  asked,  as  soon  as  I  had  drawn  her  out  of  range 
of  the  club-windows. 

"My!"  she  exclaimed  again,  and  I  saw  an 
ecstatic  look  pass  between  her  and  a  still  smaller 
girl  with  her,  whom  she  referred  to  as  a  neigh- 
bour. 

I  waited  coldly.  William's  wife,  I  was  informed, 
had  looked  like  nothing  but  a  dead  one  till  she  got 
the  brandy. 

"Hush,  child,"  I  said,  shocked.  "You  don't  know 
how  the  dead  look." 

"Bless  yer !"  she  replied. 

Assisted  by  her  friend,  who  was  evidently  enor- 
mously impressed  by  Irene's  intimacy  with  me,  she 
gave  me  a  good  deal  of  miscellaneous  information, 
as  that  William's  real  name  was  Mr.  Kicking,  but 
that  he  was  known  in  their  street,  because  of  the 
number  of  his  shirts,  as  TofF  Kicking.  That  the 
street  held  he  should  get  away  from  the  club  be- 
fore two  in  the  morning,  for  his  missus  needed  him 
more  than  the  club  needed  him.  That  William  re- 
plied (very  sensibly)  that  if  the  club  was  short  of 
waiters  at  supper-time  some  of  tiie  gentlemen  might 
90 


INCONSIDERATE    WAITER 

be  kept  waiting  for  their  marrow-bone.  That  he 
sat  up  with  his  missus  most  of  the  night,  and  pre- 
tended to  her  that  he  got  some  nice  long  naps  at 
the  club.  That  what  she  talked  to  him  about  mostly 
was  the  kid.  That  the  kid  was  in  another  part  of 
London  (in  charge  of  a  person  called  the  old 
woman),  because  there  was  an  epidemic  in  Irene's 
street. 

"And  what  does  the  doctor  say  about  your 
mother .?" 

"He  sometimes  says  she  would  have  a  chance  if 
she  could  get  her  kid  back." 

"Nonsense." 

"And  if  she  was  took  to  the  country." 

"Then  why  does  not  William  take  her?" 

"My !  And  if  she  drank  porty  wine." 

"Doesn't  she?" 

"No.  But  father,  he  tells  her  'bout  how  the  gen- 
tlemen drinks  it." 

I  turned  from  her  with  relief,  but  she  came  after 
me. 

"Ain't  yer  going  to  do  it  this  time?"  she  de- 
manded with  a  falling  face.  "You  done  it  last  time. 
91 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

I  tell  her  you  done  it" — she  pointed  to  her  friend 
who  was  looking  wistfully  at  me — "ain't  you  to 
let  her  see  you  doing  of  it?" 

For  a  moment  I  thought  that  her  desire  was 
another  shilling,  but  by  a  piece  of  pantomime  she 
showed  that  she  wanted  me  to  lift  my  hat  to  her. 
So  I  Hfted  it,  and  when  I  looked  behind  she  had 
her  head  in  the  air  and  her  neighbour  was  gazing 
at  her  awestruck.  These  little  creatures  are  really 
not  without  merit. 

About  a  week  afterward  I  was  in  a  hired  landau, 
holding  a  newspaper  before  my  face  lest  anyone 
should  see  me  in  company  of  a  waiter  and  his  wife. 
William  was  taking  her  into  Surrey  to  stay  with 
an  old  nurse  of  mine,  and  Irene  was  with  us,  wear- 
ing the  most  outrageous  bonnet. 

I  formed  a  mean  opinion  of  Mrs.  Hicking's  in- 
telligence from  her  pride  in  the  baby,  which  was 
a  very  ordinary  one.  She  created  a  regrettable 
scene  when  it  was  brought  to  her,  because  "she 
had  been  feared  it  would  not  know  her  again."  I 
could  have  told  her  that  they  know  no  one  for  years 
had  I  not  been  in  terror  of  Irene,  who  dandled  the 

92 


INCONSIDERATE    WAITER 

child  on  her  knees  and  talked  to  it  all  the  way.  I 
have  never  known  a  bolder  little  hussy  than  this 
Irene.  She  asked  the  infant  improper  questions, 
such  as  "Oo  know  who  gave  me  this  bonnet?"  and 
answered  them  herself.  "It  was  the  pretty  gentle- 
man there,"  and  several  times  I  had  to  affect  sleep, 
because  she  announced,  "Kiddy  wants  to  kiss  the 
pretty  gentleman." 

Irksome  as  all  this  necessarily  was  to  a  man  of 
taste,  I  suffered  still  more  acutely  when  we  reached 
our  destination,  where  disagreeable  circumstances 
compelled  me  to  drink  tea  with  a  waiter's  family. 
William  knew  that  I  regarded  thanks  from  persons 
of  his  class  as  an  outrage,  yet  he  looked  them 
though  he  dared  not  speak  them.  Hardly  had  he 
sat  down  at  the  table  by  my  orders  than  he  remem- 
bered that  I  was  a  member  of  the  club  and  jumped 
up.  Nothing  is  in  worse  form  than  whispering,  yet 
again  and  again  he  whispered  to  his  poor,  foolish 
wife,  "How  are  you  now.?  You  don't  feel  faint.?" 
and  when  she  said  she  felt  like  another  woman  al- 
ready, his  face  charged  me  with  the  change.  I 
could  not  but  conclude  from  the  way  she  let  the 
93 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

baby  pound  her  that  she  was  stronger  than  she 
pretended. 

I  remained  longer  than  was  necessary  because 
I  had  something  to  say  to  Wilham  which  I  feared 
he  would  misunderstand,  but  when  he  announced 
that  it  was  time  for  him  to  catch  a  train  back  to 
London,  at  which  his  wife  paled,  I  delivered  the 
message. 

"William,"  I  said,  backing  away  from  him,  "the 
head-waiter  asked  me  to  say  that  you  could  take 
a  fortnight's  holiday.  Your  wages  will  be  paid  as 
usual." 

Confound  him. 

"William,"  I  cried  furiously,  "go  away." 

Then  I  saw  his  wife  signing  to  him,  and  I  knew 
she  wanted  to  be  left  alone  with  me. 

"William,"  I  cried  in  a  panic,  "stay  where  you 
are." 

But  he  was  gone,  and  I  was  alone  with  a  woman 
whose  eyes  were  filmy.  Her  class  are  fond  of  scenes. 
"If  you  please,  ma'am!"  I  said  imploringly. 

But  she  kissed  my  hand;  she  was  like  a  little 
dog. 

94 


INCONSIDERATE    WAITER 

"It  can  be  only  the  memory  of  some  woman," 
said  she,  "that  makes  you  so  kind  to  me  and  mine." 

Memory  was  the  word  she  used,  as  if  all  my 
youth  were  fled.  I  suppose  I  really  am  quite  elderly. 

"I  should  like  to  know  her  name,  sir,"  she  said, 
"that  I  may  mention  her  with  loving  respect  in  my 
prayers." 

I  raised  the  woman  and  told  her  the  name.  It 
was  not  Mary.  "But  she  has  a  home,"  I  said,  "as 
you  have,  and  I  have  none.  Perhaps,  ma'am,  it 
would  be  better  worth  your  while  to  mention  me." 

It  was  this  woman,  now  in  health,  whom  I  in- 
trusted with  the  purchase  of  the  outfits,  "one  for 
a  boy  of  six  months,"  I  explained  to  her,  "and  one 
for  a  boy  of  a  year,"  for  the  painter  had  boasted 
to  me  of  David's  rapid  growth.  I  think  she  was 
a  little  surprised  to  find  that  both  outfits  were  for 
the  same  house;  and  she  certainly  betrayed  an 
ignoble  curiosity  about  the  mother's  Christian 
name,  but  she  was  much  easier  to  brow-beat  than 
a  fine  lady  would  have  been,  and  I  am  sure  she 
and  her  daughter  enjoyed  themselves  hugely  in  the 

95 


THE   LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

shops,  from  one  of  which  I  shall  never  forget  Irene 
emerging  proudly  with  a  commissionaire,  who  con- 
ducted her  under  an  umbrella  to  the  cab  where  I 
was  h'ing  in  wait.  I  think  that  was  the  most 
celestial  walk  of  Irene's  life. 

I  told  Mrs.  Kicking  to  give  the  articles  a  little 
active  ill-treatment  that  they  might  not  look  quite 
new,  at  which  she  exclaimed,  not  being  in  my  secret, 
and  then  to  forward  them  to  me.  I  then  sent  them 
to  Mary  and  rejoiced  in  my  devilish  cunning  all 
the  evening,  but  chagrin  came  in  the  morning  with 
a  letter  from  her  which  showed  she  knew  all,  that 
I  was  her  Mr.  Anon,  and  that  there  never  had  been 
a  Timothy.  I  think  I  was  never  so  gravelled.  Even 
now  I  don't  know  how  she  had  contrived  it. 

Her  cleverness  raised  such  a  demon  in  me  that 
I  locked  away  her  letter  at  once  and  have  seldom 
read  it  since.  No  married  lady  should  have  indited 
such  an  epistle  to  a  single  man.  It  said,  with  other 
things  which  I  decline  to  repeat,  that  I  was  her 
good  fairy.  As  a  sample  of  the  deliberate  false- 
hoods in  it,  I  may  mention  that  she  said  David 
loved  me  already.  She  hoped  that  I  would  come 

96 


INCONSIDERATE    WAITER 

in  often  to  see  her  husband,  who  was  very  proud 
of  my  friendship,  and  suggested  that  I  should  pay 
him  my  first  visit  to-day  at  three  o'clock,  an  hour 
at  which,  as  I  happened  to  know,  he  is  always  away 
giving  a  painting-lesson.  In  short,  she  wanted  first 
to  meet  me  alone,  so  that  she  might  draw  the  de- 
licious, respectful  romance  out  of  me,  and  after- 
ward repeat  it  to  him,  with  sighs  and  little  peeps 
at  him  over  her  pocket-handkerchief. 

She  had  dropped  what  were  meant  to  look  like 
two  tears  for  me  upon  the  paper,  but  I  should  not 
wonder  though  they  were  only  artful  drops  of 
water. 

I  sent  her  a  stiff  and  tart  reply,  declining  to 
hold  any  communication  with  her. 


IX 

A    CONFIRMED    SPINSTER 

X  AM  in  danger,  I  see,  of  being  included  among 
the  whimsical  fellows,  which  I  so  little  desire  that 
I  have  got  me  into  my  writing-chair  to  combat  the 
charge,  but,  having  sat  for  an  unconscionable  time 
with  pen  poised,  I  am  come  agitatedly  to  the  fear 
that  there  may  be  something  in  it. 

So  long  a  time  has  elapsed,  you  must  know,  since 
I  abated  of  the  ardours  of  self-inquiry  that  I  revert 
in  vain  (through  many  rusty  doors)  for  the  be- 
ginning of  this  change  in  me,  if  changed  I  am; 
I  seem  ever  to  see  this  same  man  until  I  am  back 
In  those  wonderful  months  which  were  half  of  my 
life,  when,  indeed,  I  know  that  I  was  otherwise  than 
I  am  now;  no  whimsical  fellow  then,  for  that  was 
one  of  the  possibilities  I  put  to  myself  while  seek- 
ing for  the  explanation  of  things,  and  found  to  be 
Inadmissible.  Having  failed  in  those  days  to  dis- 
cover why  I  was  driven  from  the  garden,  I  suppose 

98 


A    CONFIRMED    SPINSTER 

I  ceased  to  be  enamoured  of  myself,  as  of  some 
dull  puzzle,  and  then  perhaps  the  whimsicalities 
began  to  collect  unnoticed. 

It  is  a  painful  thought  to  me  to-night,  that  he 
could  wake  up  glorious  once,  this  man  in  the  el- 
bow-chair by  the  fire,  who  is  humorously  known  at 
the  club  as  a  "  confirmed  spinster."  I  remember 
him  well  when  his  years  told  four  and  twenty ;  on 
my  soul  the  proudest  subaltern  of  my  acquaintance, 
and  with  the  most  reason  to  be  proud.  There  was 
nothing  he  might  not  do  in  the  future,  having 
already  done  the  biggest  thing,  this  toddler  up 
club-steps  to-day. 

Not,  indeed,  that  I  am  a  knave ;  I  am  tolerably 
kind,  I  believe,  and  most  inoffensive,  a  gentleman, 
I  trust,  even  in  the  eyes  of  the  ladies  who  smile  at 
me  as  we  converse;  they  are  an  ever-increasing 
number,  or  so  it  seems  to  me  to-night.  Ah,  ladies, 
I  forget  when  I  first  began  to  notice  that  smile  and 
to  be  made  uneasy  by  it.  I  think  I  understand  it 
now,  and  in  some  vague  way  it  hurts  me.  I  find 
that  I  watch  for  it  nowadays,  but  I  hope  I  am  still 
your  loyal,  obedient  servant. 
99 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

You  will  scarcely  credit  it,  but  I  have  just  re- 
membered that  I  once  had  a  fascinating  smile  of 
my  own.  What  has  become  of  my  smile?  I  swear 
I  have  not  noticed  that  it  was  gone  till  now ;  I  am 
like  one  who  revisiting  his  school  feels  suddenly 
for  his  old  knife.  I  first  heard  of  my  smile  from 
another  boy,  whose  sisters  had  considered  all  the 
smiles  they  knew  and  placed  mine  on  top.  My 
friend  was  scornful,  and  I  bribed  him  to  mention 
the  plebiscite  to  no  one,  but  secretly  I  was  elated 
and  amazed.  I  feel  lost  to-night  without  my  smile. 
I  rose  a  moment  ago  to  look  for  it  in  my  mirror. 

I  like  to  believe  that  she  has  it  now.  I  think  she 
may  have  some  other  forgotten  trifles  of  mine  with 
it  that  make  the  difference  between  that  man  and 
this.  I  remember  her  speaking  of  my  smile,  telling 
me  it  was  my  one  adornment,  and  taking  it  from 
me,  so  to  speak,  for  a  moment  to  let  me  see  how 
she  looked  in  it;  she  delighted  to  make  sport  of 
me  when  she  was  in  a  wayward  mood,  and  to  show 
me  all  my  ungainly  tricks  of  voice  and  gesture, 
exaggerated  and  glorified  In  her  entrancing  self, 
like  a  star  calling  to  the  earth :  "  See,  I  will  show 
100 


A    CONFIRMED    SPIN^TEJi.., 

you  how  you  hobble  round,"  and  always  there  was 
a  challenge  to  me  in  her  eyes  to  stop  her  if  I  dared, 
and  upon  them,  when  she  was  most  audacious,  lay 
a  sweet  mist. 

They  all  came  to  her  court,  as  is  the  business  of 
young  fellows,  to  tell  her  what  love  is,  and  she 
listened  with  a  noble  frankness,  having,  indeed,  the 
friendliest  face  for  all  engaged  in  this  pursuit  that 
can  ever  have  sat  on  woman.  I  have  heard  ladies 
call  her  coquette,  not  understanding  that  she  shone 
softly  upon  all  who  entered  the  lists  because,  with 
the  rarest  intuition,  she  foresaw  that  they  must  go 
away  broken  men  and  already  sympathised  with 
their  dear  wounds.  All  wounds  incurred  for  love 
were  dear  to  her ;  at  every  true  utterance  about  love 
she  exulted  with  grave  approval,  or  it  might  be 
with  a  little  "ah!"  or  "oh!"  like  one  drinking  de- 
liciously.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  fair,  for 
she  was  for  the  first  comer  who  could  hit  the  target, 
which  was  her  heart. 

She  adored  all  beautiful  things  in  their  every 
curve  and  fragrance,  so  that  they  became  part  of 
her.  Day  by  day,  she  gathered  beauty ;  had  she  had 
101 


THE    ^.ITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

no  heart  (she  who  was  the  bosom  of  womanhood) 
her  thoughts  would  still  have  been  as  lilies,  because 
the  good  is  the  beautiful. 

And  they  all  forgave  her;  I  never  knew  of  one 
who  did  not  forgive  her;  I  think  had  there  been 
one  it  would  have  proved  that  there  was  a  flaw  in 
her.  Perhaps,  when  good-bye  came  she  was  weep- 
ing because  all  the  pretty  things  were  said  and 
done  with,  or  she  was  making  doleful  confessions 
about  herself,  so  impulsive  and  generous  and  con- 
fidential, and  so  devoid  of  humour,  that  they  com- 
pelled even  a  tragic  swain  to  laugh.  She  made  a 
looking-glass  of  his  face  to  seek  wofully  in  it 
whether  she  was  at  all  to  blame,  and  when  his  arms 
went  out  for  her,  and  she  stepped  back  so  that  they 
fell  empty,  she  mourned,  with  dear  sympathy,  his 
lack  of  skill  to  seize  her.  For  what  her  soft  eyes 
said  was  that  she  was  always  waiting  tremulously 
to  be  won.  They  all  forgave  her,  because  there  was 
nothing  to  forgive,  or  very  little,  just  the  little 
that  makes  a  dear  girl  dearer,  and  often  afterward, 
I  believe,  they  have  laughed  fondly  when  thinking 
of  her,  like  boys  brought  back.  You  ladies  who  are 
102 


A    CONFIRMED    SPINST^.I^ 

everything  to  your  husbands  save  a  girl  from  the 
dream  of  youth,  have  you  never  known  that  double- 
chinned  industrious  man  laugh  suddenly  in  a  rev- 
erie and  start  up,  as  if  he  fancied  he  were  being 
hailed  from  far-away? 

I  hear  her  hailing  me  now.  She  was  so  light- 
hearted  that  her  laugh  is  what  comes  first  across 
the  years;  so  high-spirited  that  she  would  have 
wept  like  Mary  of  Scots  because  she  could  not  lie 
on  the  bare  plains  like  the  men.  I  hear  her,  but  it 
is  only  as  an  echo;  I  see  her,  but  it  is  as  a  light 
among  distant  trees,  and  the  middle-aged  man  can 
draw  no  nearer;  she  was  only  for  the  boys.  There 
was  a  month  when  I  could  have  shown  her  to  you 
in  all  her  bravery,  but  then  the  veil  fell,  and  from 
that  moment  I  understood  her  not.  For  long  I 
watched  her,  but  she  was  never  clear  to  me  again, 
and  for  long  she  hovered  round  me,  like  a  dear 
heart  willing  to  give  me  a  thousand  chances  to 
regain  her  love.  She  was  so  picturesque  that  she 
was  the  last  word  of  art,  but  she  was  as  young 
as  if  she  were  the  first  woman.  The  world  must  have 
rung  with  gallant  deeds  and  grown  lovely  thoughts 
103 


TliE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

for  numberless  centuries  before  she  could  be;  she 
was  the  child  of  all  the  brave  and  wistful  imagin- 
ings of  men.  She  was  as  mysterious  as  night  when 
it  fell  for  the  first  time  upon  the  earth.  She  was 
the  thing  we  call  romance,  which  lives  in  the  little 
hut  beyond  the  blue  haze  of  the  pine-woods. 

No  one  could  have  looked  less  elfish.  She  was  all 
on  a  noble  scale,  her  attributes  were  so  generous, 
her  manner  unconquerably  gracious,  her  move- 
ments indolently  active,  her  face  so  candid  that  you 
must  swear  her  every  thought  lived  always  in  the 
open.  Yet,  with  it  all,  she  was  a  wild  thing,  alert, 
suspicious  of  the  lasso,  nosing  it  in  every  man's 
hand,  more  curious  about  it  than  about  aught  else 
in  the  world;  her  quivering  delight  was  to  see  it 
cast  for  her,  her  game  to  elude  it;  so  mettlesome 
was  she  that  she  loved  it  to  be  cast  fair  that  she 
might  escape  as  it  was  closing  round  her;  she 
scorned,  however  her  heart  might  be  beating,  to 
run  from  her  pursuers ;  she  took  only  the  one  step 
backward,  which  still  left  her  near  them  but  always 
out  of  reach ;  her  head  on  high  now,  but  her  face 
as  friendly,  her  manner  as  gracious  as  before,  she 
104 


A    CONFIRMED    SPINSTER 

is  jours  for  the  catching.  That  was  ever  the 
unspoken  compact  between  her  and  the  hunts- 
men. 

It  may  be  but  an  old  trick  come  back  to  me  with 
these  memories,  but  again  I  clasp  my  hands  to  my 
brows  in  amaze  at  the  thought  that  all  this  was  for 
me  could  I  retain  her  love.  For  I  won  it,  wonder  of 
the  gods,  but  I  won  it.  I  found  myself  with  one 
foot  across  the  magic  circle  wherein  she  moved, 
and  which  none  but  I  had  entered ;  and  so,  I  think, 
I  saw  her  in  revelation,  not  as  the  wild  thing  they 
had  all  conceived  her,  but  as  she  really  was.  I  saw 
no  tameless  creature,  nothing  wild  or  strange.  I 
saw  my  sweet  love  placid  as  a  young  cow  browsing. 
As  I  brushed  aside  the  haze  and  she  was  truly  seen 
for  the  first  time,  she  raised  her  head,  like  one 
caught,  and  gazed  at  me  with  meek  affrighted  eyes. 
I  told  her  what  had  been  revealed  to  me  as  I  looked 
upon  her,  and  she  trembled,  knowing  she  was  at 
last  found,  and  fain  would  she  have  fled  away,  but 
that  her  fear  was  less  than  her  gladness.  She  came 
to  me  slowly ;  no  incomprehensible  thing  to  me  now, 
but  transparent  as  a  pool,  and  so  restful  to  look 
105 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

upon  that  she  was  a  bath  to  the  eyes,  hke  banks 
of  moss. 

Because  I  knew  the  maid,  she  was  mine.  Every 
maid,  I  say,  is  for  him  who  can  know  her.  The 
others  had  but  followed  the  glamour  in  which  she 
walked,  but  I  had  pierced  it  and  found  the  woman. 
I  could  anticipate  her  every  thought  and  gesture, 
I  could  have  flashed  and  rippled  and  mocked  for 
her,  and  melted  for  her  and  been  dear  disdain  for 
her.  She  would  forget  this  and  be  suddenly  con- 
scious of  it  as  she  began  to  speak,  when  she  gave 
me  a  look  with  a  shy  smile  in  it  which  meant  that 
she  knew  I  was  already  waiting  at  the  end  of  what 
she  had  to  say.  I  call  this  the  blush  of  the  eye. 
She  had  a  look  and  a  voice  that  were  for  me  alone ; 
her  very  finger-tips  were  charged  with  'aresses  for 
me.  And  I  loved  even  her  naughtinesses,  as  when 
she  stamped  her  foot  at  me,  which  she  could  not 
do  without  also  gnashing  her  teeth,  like  a  child 
trying  to  look  fearsome.  How  pretty  was  that 
gnashing  of  her  teeth!  All  her  tormentings  of  me 
turned  suddenly  into  sweetnesses,  and  who  could 
torment  like  this  exquisite  fury,  wonderi^P*  in  sud- 


A    CONFIRMED    SPINSTER 

den  flame  why  she  could  give  herself  to  anyone, 
while  I  wondered  only  why  she  could  give  herself 
to  me.  It  may  be  that  I  wondered  over-much.  Per- 
haps that  was  why  I  lost  her. 

It  was  in  the  full  of  the  moon  that  she  was  most 
restive,  but  I  brought  her  back,  and  at  first  she 
could  have  bit  m;,  hand,  but  then  she  came  will- 
ingly. Never,  I  thought,  shall  she  be  wholly  tamed, 
but  he  who  knows  her  will  always  be  able  to  bring 
her  back. 

I  am  not  that  man,  for  mystery  of  mysteries,  I 
lost  her.  I  know  not  how  it  was,  though  in  the  twi- 
light of  my  life  that  then  began  I  groped  for 
reasons  until  I  wearied  of  myself;  all  I  know  is 
that  she  had  ceased  to  love  me ;  I  had  won  her  love, 
but  I  could  not  keep  it.  The  discovery  came  to  me 
slowly,  as  if  I  were  a  most  dull-witted  man ;  at  first 
I  knew  only  that  I  no  longer  understood  her  as 
of  old.  I  found  myself  wondering  what  she  had 
meant  by  this  and  that;  I  did  not  see  that  when 
she  began  to  puzzle  me  she  was  already  lost  to  me. 
It  was  as  if,  unknowing,  I  had  strayed  outside  the 
magic  circle. 

107 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

When  I  did  understand  I  tried  to  cheat  myself 
into  the  belief  that  there  was  no  change,  and  the 
dear  heart  bleeding  for  me  assisted  in  that  poor 
pretence.  She  sought  to  glide  to  me  with  swimming 
eyes  as  before,  but  it  showed  only  that  this  ca- 
ressing movement  was  still  within  her  compass,  but 
never  again  for  me.  With  the  hands  she  had  pressed 
to  her  breast  she  touched  mine,  but  no  longer  could 
they  convey  the  message.  The  current  was  broken, 
and  soon  we  had  to  desist  miserably  from  our  pre- 
tences. She  could  tell  no  more  than  I  why  she  had 
ceased  to  love  me;  she  was  scarcely  less  anxious 
than  I  that  I  should  make  her  love  me  again,  and, 
as  I  have  said,  she  waited  with  a  wonderful  toler- 
ance while  I  strove  futilely  to  discover  in  what  I 
was  lacking  and  to  remedy  it.  And  when,  at  last, 
she  had  to  leave  me,  it  was  with  compassionate  cries 
and  little  backward  flights. 

The  failure  was  mine  alone,  but  I  think  I  should 
not  have  been  so  altered  by  it  had  I  known  what 
was  the  defect  in  me  through  which  I  let  her  love 
escape.  This  puzzle  has  done  me  more  harm  than 
the  loss  of  her.  Nevertheless,  you  must  know  (if  I 
am  to  speak  honestly  to  you)  that  I  do  not  repent 
108 


A    CONFIRMED    SPINSTER 

me  those  dally ings  in  enchanted  fields.  It  may  not 
have  been  so  always,  for  I  remember  a  black  night 
when  a  poor  lieutenant  lay  down  in  an  oarless  boat 
and  let  it  drift  toward  the  weir.  But  his  distant 
moans  do  not  greatly  pain  me  now;  rather  am  I 
elated  to  find  (as  the  waters  bring  him  nearer)  that 
this  boy  is  I,  for  it  is  something  to  know  that,  once 
upon  a  time,  a  woman  could  draw  blood  from  me 
as  from  another. 

I  saw  her  again,  years  afterward,  when  she  was 
a  married  woman  playing  with  her  children.  She 
stamped  her  foot  at  a  naughty  one,  and  I  saw  the 
gleam  of  her  teeth  as  she  gnashed  them  in  the  dear 
pretty  way  I  can't  forget ;  and  then  a  boy  and  girl, 
fighting  for  her  shoulders,  brought  the  whole 
group  joyously  to  the  ground.  She  picked  herself 
up  in  the  old  leisurely  manner,  lazily  active,  and 
looked  around  her  benignantly,  like  a  cow:  our 
dear  wild  one  safely  tethered  at  last  with  a  rope  of 
children.  I  meant  to  make  her  my  devoirs,  but,  as 
I  stepped  forward,  the  old  wound  broke  out  afresh, 
and  I  had  to  turn  away.  They  were  but  a  few  poor 
drops,  which  fell  because  I  found  that  she  was  even 
a  little  sweeter  than  I  had  thought. 
109 


SPORTING    REFLECTIONS 

1  HAVE  now  told  you  (I  presume)  how  I  became 
whimsical,  and  I  fear  it  would  please  Mary  not  at 
all.  But  speaking  of  her,  and,  as  the  cat's  light 
keeps  me  in  a  ruminating  mood,  suppose,  instead 
of  returning  Mary  to  her  lover  by  means  of  the 
letter,  I  had  presented  a  certain  clubman  to  her 
consideration?  Certainly  no  such  whimsical  idea 
crossed  my  mind  when  I  dropped  the  letter,  but 
between  you  and  me  and  my  night-socks,  which 
have  all  this  time  been  airing  by  the  fire  because 
I  am  subject  to  cold  feet,  I  have  sometimes  toyed 
with  it  since. 

Why  did  I  not  think  of  this  in  time  ?  Was  it  be- 
cause I  must  ever  remain  true  to  the  unattainable 
she? 

I  am  reminded  of  a  passage  in  the  life  of  a  sweet 
lady,  a  friend  of  mine,  whose  daughter  was  on  the 
eve  of  marriage,  when  suddenly  her  lover  died.  It 
110 


SPORTING    REFJlECTIONS 

then  became  pitiful  to  watch  that  trembling  old 
face  trying  to  point  the  way  of  courage  to  the 
young  one.  In  time,  however,  there  came  another 
youth,  as  true,  I  dare  say,  as  the  iSrst,  but  not  so 
well  known  to  me,  and  I  shrugged  my  shoulders 
cynically  to  see  my  old  friend  once  more  a  match- 
maker. She  took  him  to  her  heart  and  boasted  of 
him;  like  one  made  young  herself  by  the  great 
event,  she  joyously  dressed  her  pale  daughter  in 
her  bridal  gown,  and,  with  smiles  upon  her  face, 
she  cast  rice  after  the  departing  carriage.  But  soon 
after  it  had  gone,  I  chanced  upon  her  in  her  room, 
and  she  was  on  her  knees  in  tears  before  the  spirit 
of  the  dead  lover.  "Forgive  me,"  she  besought  him, 
'*for  I  am  old,  and  life  is  gray  to  friendless  girls." 
The  pardon  she  wanted  was  for  pretending  to  her 
daughter  that  women  should  act  thus. 

I  am  sure  she  felt  herself  soiled. 

But  men  are  of  a  coarser  clay.  At  least  I  am,  and 
nearly  twenty  years  had  elapsed,  and  here  was  I 
burdened  under  a  load  of  affection,  like  a  sack  of 
returned  love-letters,  with  no  lap  into  which  to 
dump  them. 

Ill 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

**They  were  all  written  to  another  woman, 
ma'am,  and  yet  I  am  in  hopes  that  you  will  find 
something  in  them  about  yourself."  It  would  have 
sounded  oddly  to  Mary,  but  life  is  gray  to  friend- 
less girls,  and  something  might  have  come  of  it. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  would  have  brought  her 
for  ever  out  of  the  wood  of  the  little  hut,  and  I 
had  but  to  drop  the  letter  to  send  them  both  back 
there.  The  easiness  of  it  tempted  me. 

Besides,  she  would  tire  of  me  when  I  was  really 
known  to  her.  They  all  do,  you  see. 

And,  after  all,  why  should  he  lose  his  laugh  be- 
cause I  had  lost  my  smile? 

And  then,  again,  the  whole  thing  was  merely  a 
whimsical  idea. 

I  dropped  the  letter,  and  shouldered  my  burden. 


112 


XI 

THE    RUNAWAY    PERAMBULATOR 

I  SOMETIMES  met  David  in  public  places  such 
as  the  Kensington  Gardens,  where  he  lorded  it  sur- 
rounded by  his  suite  and  wearing  the  blank  face 
and  glass  eyes  of  all  carriage-people.  On  these  oc- 
casions I  always  stalked  by,  meditating  on  higher 
things,  though  Mary  seemed  to  think  me  very  hard- 
hearted, and  Irene,  who  had  become  his  nurse  (I 
forget  how,  but  fear  I  had  something  to  do  with 
it),  ran  after  me  with  messages,  as,  would  I  not 
call  and  see  him  in  his  home  at  twelve  o'clock,  at 
which  moment,  it  seemed,  he  was  at  his  best. 

No,  I  would  not. 

"He  says  tick-tack  to  the  clock,"  Irene  said,  try- 
ing to  snare  me. 

"Pooh!"  said  I. 

"Other  little  'uns  jest  says  'tick-tick,'"  she  told 
me,  with  a  flush  of  pride. 

"I  prefer  'tick-tick,'"  I  said,  whereat  she  de- 
parted in  dudgeon. 

113 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

Had  they  had  the  sense  to  wheel  him  behind  a 
tree  and  leave  him,  I  would  have  looked,  but  as  they 
lacked  it,  I  decided  to  wait  until  he  could  walk, 
when  it  would  be  more  easy  to  waylay  him.  How- 
ever, he  was  a  cautious  little  gorbal  who,  after 
many  threats  to  rise,  always  seemed  to  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  might  do  worse  than  remain 
where  he  was,  and  when  he  had  completed  his  first 
year  I  lost  patience  with  him. 

"When  I  was  his  age,"  I  said  to  Irene,  "I  was 
running  about."  I  consulted  them  casually  about 
this  matter  at  the  club,  and  they  had  all  been  run- 
ning about  at  a  year  old. 

I  made  this  nurse  the  following  offer:  If  she 
would  bring  the  dilatory  boy  to  my  rooms  and 
leave  him  there  for  half  an  hour  I  would  look  at 
him.  At  first  Mary,  to  whom  the  offer  was  passed 
on,  rejected  it  with  hauteur,  but  presently  she  wav- 
ered, and  the  upshot  was  that  Irene,  looking  scorn- 
ful and  anxious,  arrived  one  day  with  the  peram- 
bulator. Without  casting  eyes  on  its  occupant,  I 
pointed  Irene  to  the  door:  "In  half-an-hour,"  I 
said. 

114 


THE  RUNAWAY  PERAMBULATOR 

She  begged  permission  to  remain,  and  promised 
to  turn  her  back,  and  so  on,  but  I  was  obdurate, 
and  she  then  delivered  herself  of  a  passionately 
affectionate  farewell  to  her  charge,  which  was 
really  all  directed  against  me,  and  ended  with  these 
powerful  words:  "And  if  he  takes  off  your  socks, 
my  pretty,  may  he  be  blasted  for  evermore." 

"I  shall  probably  take  off  her  socks,"  I  said  care- 
lessly to  this. 

Her  socks.  Do  you  see  what  made  Irene 
scream  ? 

"It  is  a  girl,  is  it  not?"  I  asked,  thus  neatly  de- 
priving her  of  coherent  speech  as  I  pushed  her  to 
the  door.  I  then  turned  round  to — to  begin,  and, 
after  reflecting,  I  began  by  sitting  down  behind 
the  hood  of  his  carriage.  My  plan  was  to  accustom 
him  to  his  new  surroundings  before  bursting  on 
the  scene  myself. 

I  had  various  thoughts.  Was  he  awake?  If  not, 
better  let  him  wake  naturally.  Half-an-hour  was 
a  long  time.  Why  had  I  not  said  quarter-of-an- 
hour?  Anon,  I  saw  that  if  I  was  to  sit  there  much 
ionger  I  should  have  said  an  hour,  so  I  whistled 
1J5 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

softly;  but  he  took  no  notice.  I  remember  trying 
to  persuade  myself  that  if  I  never  budged  till 
Irene's  return,  it  would  be  an  amusing  triumph 
over  Mary.  I  coughed,  but  still  there  was  no  re- 
sponse. Abruptly,  the  fear  smote  me.  Perhaps  he 
is  not  there. 

I  rose  hastily,  and  was  striding  forward,  when 
I  distinctly  noticed  a  covert  movement  somewhere 
near  the  middle  of  the  carriage,  and  heard  a  low 
gurgle,  which  was  instantly  suppressed.  I  stopped 
dead  at  this  sharp  reminder  that  I  was  probably 
not  the  only  curious  person  in  the  room,  and  for 
a  long  moment  we  both  lay  low,  after  which,  I  am 
glad  to  remember,  I  made  the  first  advance.  Earlier 
in  the  day  I  had  arranged  some  likely  articles  on  a 
side-table :  my  watch  and  chain,  my  bunch  of  keys, 
and  two  war-medals  for  plodding  merit,  and  with 
a  glance  at  these  (as  something  to  fall  back  upon), 
I  stepped  forward  doggedly,  looking  (I  fear  now) 
a  little  like  a  professor  of  legerdemain.  David  was 
sitting  up,  and  he  immediately  fixed  his  eyes  on  me. 

It  would  ill  become  me  to  attempt  to  describe 
this  dear  boy  to  you,  for  of  course  I  know  really 
116 


THE  RUNAWAY  PERAMBULATOR 

nothing  about  children,  so  I  shall  say  only  this, 
that  I  thought  him  very  hke  what  Timothy  would 
have  been  had  he  ever  had  a  chance. 

I  to  whom  David  had  been  brought  for  judg- 
ment, now  found  myself  being  judged  by  him,  and 
this  rearrangement  of  the  pieces  seemed  so  natural 
that  I  felt  no  surprise ;  I  felt  only  a  humble  crav- 
ing to  hear  him  signify  that  I  would  do.  I  have 
stood  up  before  other  keen  judges  and  deceived 
them  all,  but  I  made  no  effort  to  deceive  David; 
I  wanted  to,  but  dared  not.  Those  unblinking  eyes 
were  too  new  to  the  world  to  be  hooded  by  any  of 
its  tricks.  In  them  I  saw  my  true  self.  They  opened 
for  me  that  pedler's  pack  of  which  I  have  made  so 
much  ado,  and  I  found  that  it  was  weighted  less 
with  pretty  little  sad  love-tokens  than  with  ignoble 
thoughts  and  deeds  and  an  unguided  life.  I  looked 
dejectedly  at  David,  not  so  much,  I  think,  because 
I  had  such  a  sorry  display  for  him,  as  because  I 
feared  he  would  not  have  me  in  his  service.  I  seemed 
to  know  that  he  was  making  up  his  mind  once  and 
for  all. 

And  in  the  end  he  smiled,  perhaps  only  because 
117 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

I  looked  so  frightened,  but  the  reason  scarcely  mat- 
tered to  me,  I  felt  myself  a  fine  fellow  at  once.  It 
was  a  long  smile,  too,  opening  slowly  to  its  fullest 
extent  (as  if  to  let  me  in),  and  then  as  slowly 
shutting. 

Then,  to  divert  me  from  sad  thoughts,  or  to 
rivet  our  friendship,  or  because  the  time  had  come 
for  each  of  us  to  show  the  other  what  he  could 
do,  he  immediately  held  one  foot  high  in  the  air. 
This  made  him  slide  down  the  perambulator,  and  I 
saw  at  once  that  it  was  very  necessary  to  replace 
him.  But  never  before  had  I  come  into  such  close 
contact  with  a  child ;  the  most  I  had  ever  done  was, 
when  they  were  held  up  to  me,  to  shut  my  eyes 
and  kiss  a  vacuum.  David,  of  course,  though  no 
doubt  he  was  eternally  being  replaced,  could  tell 
as  little  as  myself  how  it  was  contrived,  and  yet 
we  managed  it  between  us  quite  easily.  His  body 
instinctively  assumed  a  certain  position  as  I  touched 
him,  which  compelled  my  arms  to  fall  into  place, 
and  the  thing  was  done.  I  felt  absurdly  pleased, 
but  he  was  already  considering  what  he  should  do 
next. 

lis 


THE  RUNAWAY  PERAMBULATOR 

He  again  held  up  his  foot,  which  had  a  gouty 
appearance  owing  to  its  being  contained  in  a 
dumpy  httle  worsted  sock,  and  I  thought  he  pro- 
posed to  repeat  his  first  performance,  but  in  this 
I  did  him  an  injustice,  for,  unlike  Porthos,  he  was 
one  who  scorned  to  do  the  same  feat  twice;  per- 
haps, like  the  conjurors,  he  knew  that  the  audience 
were  more  on  the  alert  the  second  time. 

I  discovered  that  he  wanted  me  to  take  off  his 
sock! 

Remembering  Irene's  dread  warnings  on  this 
subject  I  must  say  that  I  felt  uneasy.  Had  he  heard 
her,  and  was  he  daring  me?  And  what  dire  thing 
could  happen  if  the  sock  was  removed?  I  sought 
to  reason  with  him,  but  he  signed  to  me  to  look 
sharp,  and  I  removed  the  sock.  The  part  of  him 
thus  revealed  gave  David  considerable  pleasure,  but 
I  noticed,  as  a  curious  thing,  that  he  seemed  to 
have  no  interest  in  the  other  foot. 

However,  it  was  not  there  merely  to  be  looked 

at,  for  after  giving  me  a  glance  which  said  "  Now 

observe !  "  he  raised  his  bare  foot  and  ran  his  mouth 

along  the  toes,  like  one  playing  on  a  barbaric  in- 

119 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

strument.  He  then  tossed  his  foot  aside,  smiled  his 
long  triumphant  smile  and  intimated  that  it  was 
now  my  turn  to  do  something.  I  thought  the  best 
thing  I  could  do  would  be  to  put  his  sock  on  him 
again,  but  as  soon  as  I  tried  to  do  so  I  discovered 
why  Irene  had  warned  me  so  portentously  against 
taking  it  off.  I  should  say  that  she  had  trouble  in 
socking  him  every  morning. 

Nevertheless  I  managed  to  slip  it  on  while  he 
was  debating  what  to  do  with  my  watch.  I  bitterly 
regretted  that  I  could  do  nothing  with  it  myself, 
put  it  under  a  wine-glass,  for  instance,  and  make 
it  turn  into  a  rabbit,  which  so  many  people  can  do. 
In  the  meantime  David,  occupied  with  similar 
thoughts,  very  nearly  made  it  disappear  alto- 
gether, and  I  was  thankful  to  be  able  to  pull  it 
back  by  the  chain. 

"Haw-ha  w-7ia  w .' " 

Thus  he  commented  on  his  new  feat,  but  it  was 
also  a  reminder  to  me,  a  trifle  cruel,  that  he  was 
not  my  boy.  After  all,  you  see,  Mary  had  not  given 
him  the  whole  of  his  laugh.  The  watch  said  that 
five  and  twenty  minutes  had  passed,  and  looking 
120 


THE  RUNAWAY  PERAMBULATOR 

out  I  saw  Irene  at  one  end  of  the  street  staring 
up  at  my  window,  and  at  the  other  end  Mary's 
husband  staring  up  at  my  window,  and  beneath 
me  Mary  staring  up  at  my  window.  They  had  all 
broken  their  promise. 

I  returned  to  David,  and  asked  him  in  a  low 
voice  whether  he  would  give  me  a  kiss.  He  shook 
his  head  about  six  times,  and  I  was  in  despair. 
Then  the  smile  came,  and  I  knew  that  he  was  teas- 
ing me  only.  He  now  nodded  his  head  about  six 
times. 

This  was  the  prettiest  of  all  his  exploits.  It  was 
so  pretty  that,  contrary  to  his  rule,  he  repeated 
it.  I  had  held  out  my  arms  to  him,  and  first  he 
shook  his  head,  and  then  after  a  long  pause  (to 
frighten  me),  he  nodded  it. 

But  no  sooner  was  he  in  my  arms  than  I  seemed 
to  see  Mary  and  her  husband  and  Irene  bearing 
down  upon  my  chambers  to  take  him  from  me,  and 
acting  under  an  impulse  I  whipped  him  into  the 
perambulator  and  was  off  with  it  without  a  license 
down  the  back  staircase.  To  the  Kensington  Gar- 
dens we  went;  it  may  have  beeen  Manitoba  we 
121 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

started  for,  but  we  arrived  at  the  Kensington  Gar- 
dens, and  it  had  all  been  so  unpremeditated  and 
smartly  carried  out  that  I  remember  clapping  my 
hand  to  my  head  in  the  street,  to  make  sure  that 
I  was  wearing  a  hat. 

I  watched  David  to  see  what  he  thought  of  it, 
and  he  had  not  yet  made  up  his  mind.  Strange  to 
say,  I  no  longer  felt  shy.  I  was  grown  suddenly 
indifferent  to  public  comment,  and  my  elation  in- 
creased when  I  discovered  that  I  was  being  pur- 
sued. They  drew  a  cordon  round  me  near  Margot 
Meredith's  tree,  but  I  broke  through  it  by  a 
strategic  movement  to  the  south,  and  was  next 
heard  of  in  the  Baby's  Walk.  They  held  both  ends 
of  this  passage,  and  then  thought  to  close  on  me, 
but  I  slipped  through  their  fingers  by  doubling  up 
Bunting's  Thumb  into  Picnic  Street.  Cowering  at 
St.  Govor's  Well,  we  saw  them  rush  distractedly 
up  the  Hump,  and  when  they  had  crossed  to  the 
Round  Pond  we  paraded  gaily  in  the  Broad  Walk, 
not  feeling  the  tiniest  bit  sorry  for  anybody. 

Here,  however,  it  gradually  came  into  David's 
eyes  that,  after  all,  I  was  a  strange  man,  and  they 
122 


THE  RUNAWAY  PERAMBULATOR 

opened  wider  and  wider,  until  they  were  the  size 
of  my  medals,  and  then,  with  the  deliberation  that 
distinguishes  his  smile,  he  slowly  prepared  to  howl. 
I  saw  all  his  forces  gathering  in  his  face,  and  I 
had  nothing  to  oppose  to  them ;  it  was  an  unarmed 
man  against  a  regiment. 

Even  then  I  did  not  chide  him.  He  could  not 
know  that  it  was  I  who  had  dropped  the  letter. 

I  think  I  must  have  stepped  over  a  grateful  fairy 
at  that  moment,  for  who  else  could  have  reminded 
me  so  opportunely  of  my  famous  manipulation  of 
the  eyebrows,  forgotten  since  I  was  in  the  fifth 
form.''  I  alone  of  boys  had  been  able  to  elevate 
and  lower  my  eyebrows  separately;  when  the  one 
was  climbing  my  forehead  the  other  descended  it, 
like  the  two  buckets  in  the  well. 

Most  diffidently  did  I  call  this  accomplishment 
to  my  aid  now,  and  immediately  David  checked  his 
forces  and  considered  my  unexpected  movement 
without  prejudice.  His  face  remained  as  it  was,  his 
mouth  open  to  emit  the  howl  if  I  did  not  surpass 
expectation.  I  saw  that,  like  the  fair-minded  boy 
he  has  always  been,  he  was  giving  me  my  chance, 
123 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

and  I  worked  feverishly,  my  chief  fear  being  that, 
owing  to  his  youth,  he  might  not  know  how  mar- 
vellous was  this  thing  I  was  doing.  It  is  an  appeal 
to  the  intellect,  as  well  as  to  the  senses,  and  no  one 
on  earth  can  do  it  except  myself. 

When  I  paused  for  a  moment  exhausted  he 
signed  gravely,  with  unchanged  face,  that  though 
it  was  undeniably  funny,  he  had  not  yet  decided 
whether  it  was  funny  enough,  and,  taking  this  for 
encouragement,  at  it  I  went  once  more,  till  I  saw 
his  forces  wavering,  when  I  sent  my  left  eyebrow 
up  almost  farther  than  I  could  bring  it  back,  and 
with  that  I  had  him,  the  smile  broke  through  the 
clouds. 

In  the  midst  of  my  hard-won  triumph  I  heard 
cheering. 

I  had  been  vaguely  conscious  that  we  were  not 
quite  alone,  but  had  not  dared  to  look  away  from 
David ;  I  looked  now,  and  found  to  my  annoyance 
that  I  was  the  centre  of  a  deeply  interested  gather- 
ing of  children.  There  was,  in  particular,  one  vul- 
gar li"  tie  street-boy 

H>  rever,  if  that  damped  me  in  the  moment  of 
1S4 


THE  RUNAWAY  PERAMBULATOR 

victory,  I  was  soon  to  triumph  gloriously  in  what 
began  like  defeat.  I  had  sat  me  down  on  one  of  the 
garden-seats  in  the  Figs,  with  one  hand  resting 
carelessly  on  the  perambulator,  in  imitation  of  the 
nurses,  it  was  so  pleasant  to  assume  the  air  of  one 
who  walked  with  David  daily,  when  to  my  chagrin 
I  saw  Mary  approaching  with  quick  stealthy  steps, 
and  already  so  near  me  that  flight  would  have 
been  ignominy.  Porthos,  of  whom  she  had  hold, 
bounded  toward  me,  waving  his  traitorous  tail,  but 
she  slowed  on  seeing  that  I  had  observed  her.  She 
had  run  me  down  with  my  own  dog. 

I  have  not  mentioned  that  Porthos  had  for  some 
time  now  been  a  visitor  at  her  house,  though  never 
can  I  forget  the  shock  I  got  the  first  time  I  saw 
him  strolling  out  of  it  like  an  afternoon  caller.  Of 
late  he  has  avoided  it,  crossing  to  the  other  side 
when  I  go  that  way,  and  rejoining  me  farther  on, 
so  I  conclude  that  Mary's  husband  is  painting  him. 

I  waited  her  coming  stiffly,  in  great  depression  of 

spirits,  and  noted  that  her  first  attentions  were  for 

David,  who,  somewhat  shabbily,  gave  her  the  end 

of  a  smile  which  had  been  begun  for  me.  It  seemed 

125 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

to  relieve  her,  for  what  one  may  call  the  wild 
maternal  look  left  her  face,  and  trying  to  check 
little  gasps  of  breath,  the  result  of  unseemly  run- 
ning, she  signed  to  her  confederates  to  remain  in 
the  background,  and  turned  curious  eyes  on  me. 
Had  she  spoken  as  she  approached,  I  am  sure  her 
words  would  have  been  as  flushed  as  her  face,  but 
now  her  mouth  puckered  as  David's  does  before  he 
sets  forth  upon  his  smile,  and  I  saw  that  she 
thought  she  had  me  in  a  parley  at  last. 

"I  could  not  help  being  a  little  anxious,"  she 
said  craftily,  but  I  must  own,  with  some  sweetness. 

I  merely  raised  my  hat,  and  at  that  she  turned 
quickly  to  David — I  cannot  understand  why  the 
movement  was  so  hasty — and  lowered  her  face  to 
his.  Oh,  little  trump  of  a  boy!  Instead  of  kissing 
her,  he  seized  her  face  with  one  hand  and  tried  to 
work  her  eyebrows  up  and  down  with  the  other. 
He  failed,  and  his  obvious  disappointment  in  his 
mother  was  as  nectar  to  me. 

"I  don't  understand  what  you  want,  darling," 
said  she  in  distress,  and  looked  at  me  inquiringly, 
and  I  understood  what  he  wanted,  and  let  her  see 
126 


THE  RUNAWAY  PERAMBULATOR 

that  I  understood.  Had  I  been  prepared  to  con- 
verse with  her,  I  should  have  said  elatedly  that, 
had  she  known  what  he  wanted,  still  she  could  not 
have  done  it,  though  she  had  practised  for  twenty 
years. 

I  tried  to  express  all  this  by  another  movement 
of  my  hat. 

It  caught  David's  eye  and  at  once  he  appealed 
to  me  with  the  most  perfect  confidence.  She  failed 
to  see  what  I  did,  for  I  shyly  gave  her  my  back, 
but  the  effect  on  David  was  miraculous ;  he  signed 
to  her  to  go,  for  he  was  engaged  for  the  afternoon. 

What  would  you  have  done  then,  reader?  I 
didn't.  In  my  great  moment  I  had  strength  of  char- 
acter to  raise  my  hat  for  the  third  time  and  walk 
away,  leaving  the  child  to  judge  between  us.  I 
walked  slowly,  for  I  knew  I  must  give  him  time  to 
get  it  out,  and  I  listened  eagerly,  but  that  was  un- 
necessary, for  when  it  did  come  it  was  a  very  roar 
of  anguish.  I  turned  my  head,  and  saw  David 
fiercely  pushing  the  woman  aside,  that  he  might 
have  one  last  long  look  at  me.  He  held  out  his  wist- 
ful arms  and  nodded  repeatedly,  and  I  faltered, 
127 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD      s 

but  my  glorious  scheme  saved  me,  and  I  walked  on. 
It  was  a  scheme  conceived  In  a  flash,  and  ever  since 
relentlessly  pursued,  to  burrow  under  Mary's  In- 
fluence with  the  boy,  expose  her  to  him  In  all  her 
vagaries,  take  him  utterly  from  her  and  make  him 
Bfilne. 


I 


I2S 


xn 

THE     PLEASANTEST     CLUB      IN     LONDON 

All  perambulators  lead  to  the  Kensington 
Gardens. 

Not,  however,  that  you  will  see  David  in  his 
perambulator  much  longer,  for  soon  after  I  first 
shook  his  faith  in  his  mother,  it  came  to  him  to  be 
up  and  doing,  and  he  up  and  did  in  the  Broad 
Walk  itself,  where  he  would  stand  alone  most  elab- 
orately poised,  signing  imperiously  to  the  British 
public  to  time  him,  and  looking  his  most  heavenly 
just  before  he  fell.  He  fell  with  a  dump,  and  as 
they  always  laughed  then,  he  pretended  that  this 
was  his  funny  way  of  finishing. 

That  was  on  a  Monday.  On  Tuesday  he  climbed 
the  stone  stair  of  the  Gold  King,  looking  over  his 
shoulder  gloriously  at  each  step,  and  on  Wednes- 
day he  struck  three  and  went  into  knickerbockers. 
For  the  Kensington  Gardens,  you  must  know,  are 
full  of  short  cuts,  familiar  to  all  who  play  there; 
129 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

and  the  shortest  leads  from  the  baby  in  long  clothes 
to  the  little  boy  of  three  riding  on  the  fence.  It  is 
called  the  Mother's  Tragedy. 

If  you  are  a  burgess  of  the  gardens  (which  have 
a  vocabulary  of  their  own),  the  faces  of  these 
quaint  mothers  are  a  clock  to  you,  in  which  you 
may  read  the  ages  of  their  young.  When  he  is  three 
they  are  said  to  wear  the  knickerbocker  face,  and 
you  may  take  it  from  me  that  Mary  assumed  that 
face  with  a  sigh;  fain  would  she  have  kept  her 
boy  a  baby  longer,  but  he  insisted  on  his  rights, 
and  I  encouraged  him  that  I  might  notch  another 
point  against  her.  I  was  now  seeing  David  once  at 
least  every  week,  his  mother,  who  remained  cul- 
pably obtuse  to  my  sinister  design,  having  in- 
structed Irene  that  I  was  to  be  allowed  to  share 
him  with  her,  and  we  had  become  close  friends, 
though  the  little  nurse  was  ever  a  threatening  shad- 
ow in  the  background.  Irene,  in  short,  did  not  im- 
prove with  acquaintance.  I  found  her  to  be  high 
and  mighty,  chiefly,  I  think,  because  she  now  wore 
a  nurse's  cap  with  streamers,  of  which  the  little 
creature  was  ludicrously  proud.  She  assumed  the 
130 


THE    PLEASANTEST    CLUB 

airs  of  an  official  person,  and  always  talked  as  if 
generations  of  babies  had  passed  through  her 
hands.  She  was  also  extremely  jealous,  and  had  a 
way  of  signifying  disapproval  of  my  methods  that 
led  to  many  coldnesses  and  even  bickerings  between 
us,  which  I  now  see  to  have  been  undignified.  I 
brought  the  following  accusations  against  her: 

That  she  prated  too  much  about  right  and 
wrong. 

That  she  was  a  martinet. 

That  she  pretended  it  was  a  real  cap,  with  real 
streamers,  when  she  knew  Mary  had  made  the  whole 
thing  out  of  a  muslin  blind.  I  regret  having  used 
this  argument,  but  it  was  the  only  one  that  really 
damped  her. 

On  the  other  hand,  she  accused  me  of  spoiling 
him. 

Of  not  thinking  of  his  future. 

Of  never  asking  him  where  he  expected  to  go  to 
if  he  did  such  things. 

Of  telling  him  tales  that  had  no  moral  applica- 
tion. 

Of  saying  that  the  handkerchief  disappeared 
131 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

into  nothingness,  when  it  really  disappeared  into 
a  small  tin  cup,  attached  to  my  person  by  a  piece 
of  elastic. 

To  this  last  charge  I  plead  guilty,  for  in  those 
days  I  had  a  pathetic  faith  in  legerdemain,  and  the 
eyebrow  feat  (which,  however,  is  entirely  an  affair 
of  skill)  having  yielded  such  good  results,  I  natu- 
rally cast  about  for  similar  diversions  when  it 
ceased  to  attract.  It  lost  its  hold  on  David  sudden- 
ly, as  I  was  to  discover  was  the  fate  of  all  of  them ; 
twenty  times  would  he  call  for  my  latest,  and 
exult  in  it,  and  the  twenty -first  time  (and 
ever  afterward)  he  would  stare  blankly,  as  if 
wondering  what  the  man  meant.  He  was  like  the 
child  queen  who,  when  the  great  j  oke  was  explained 
to  her,  said  coldly,  "We  are  not  amused,"  and,  I 
assure  you,  it  is  a  humiliating  thing  to  perform 
before  an  infant  who  intimates,  after  giving  you 
ample  time  to  make  your  points,  that  he  is  not 
amused.  I  hoped  that  when  David  was  able  to  talk 
— and  not  merely  to  stare  at  me  for  five  minutes 
and  then  say  "hat" — his  spoken  verdict,  however 
damning,  would  be  less  expressive  than  his  verdict 
132 


THE    PLEASANTEST    CLUB 

without  words,  but  I  was  disillusioned.  I  remember 
once  in  those  later  years,  when  he  could  keep  up 
such  spirited  conversations  with  himself  that  he 
had  little  need  for  anj  of  us,  promising  him  to  do 
something  exceedingly  funny  with  a  box  and  two 
marbles,  and  after  he  had  watched  for  a  long  time 
he  said  gravely,  "Tell  me  when  it  begins  to  be 
funny." 

I  confess  to  having  received  a  few  simple  lessons 
in  conjuring,  in  a  dimly  lighted  chamber  beneath 
a  shop,  from  a  gifted  young  man  with  a  long  neck 
and  a  pimply  face,  who  as  I  entered  took  a  barber's 
pole  from  my  pocket,  saying  at  the  same  time, 
"Come,  come,  sir,  this  will  never  do."  Whether  be- 
cause he  knew  too  much,  or  because  he  wore  a  trick 
shirt,  he  was  the  most  depressing  person  I  ever  en- 
countered; he  felt  none  of  the  artist's  joy,  and  it 
was  sad  to  see  one  so  well  calculated  to  give  pleas- 
ure to  thousands  not  caring  a  dump  about  it. 

The  barber's  pole  I  successfully  extracted  from 

David's  mouth,  but  the  difficulty   (not  foreseen) 

of  knowing  how  to  dispose  of  a  barber's  pole  in 

the  Kensington  Gardens  is  considerable,  there  al- 

133 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

ways  being  polite  children  hovering  near  who  run 
after  you  and  restore  it  to  you.  The  young  man, 
again,  had  said  that  anyone  would  lend  me  a  bottle 
or  a  lemon,  but  though  these  were  articles  on  which 
he  seemed  ever  able  to  lay  his  hand,  I  found  (what 
I  had  never  noticed  before)  that  there  is  a  curious 
dearth  of  them  in  the  Gardens.  The  magic  egg- 
cup  I  usually  carried  about  with  me,  and  with  its 
connivance  I  did  some  astonishing  things  with 
pennies,  but  even  the  penny  that  costs  sixpence  is 
uncertain,  and  just  when  you  are  saying  trium- 
phantly that  it  will  be  found  in  the  egg-cup,  it  may 
clatter  to  the  ground,  whereon  some  ungenerous 
spectator,  such  as  Irene,  accuses  you  of  fibbing  and 
corrupting  youthful  minds.  It  was  useless  to  tell 
her,  through  clenched  teeth,  that  the  whole  thing 
was  a  joke,  for  she  understood  no  jokes  except 
her  own,  of  which  she  had  the  most  immoderately 
high  opinion,  and  that  would  have  mattered  little 
to  me  had  not  David  liked  them  also.  There  were 
times  when  I  could  not  but  think  less  of  the  boy, 
seeing  him  rock  convulsed  over  antics  of  Irene  that 
have  been  known  to  every  nursemaid  since  the  year 
134 


THE    PLEASANTEST    CLUB 

One.  While  I  stood  by,  sneering,  he  would  give  me 
the  ecstatic  look  that  meant,  "Irene  is  really  very 
entertaining,  isn't  she?" 

We  were  rivals,  but  I  desire  to  treat  her  with 
scrupulous  fairness,  and  I  admit  that  she  had  one 
good  thing,  to  wit,  her  gutta-percha  tooth.  In 
earlier  days  one  of  her  front  teeth,  as  she  told  me, 
had  fallen  out,  but  instead  of  then  parting  with  it, 
the  resourceful  child  had  hammered  it  in  again 
with  a  hair-brush,  which  she  offered  to  show  me, 
with  the  dents  on  it.  This  tooth,  having  in  time 
passed  away,  its  place  was  supplied  by  one  of 
gutta-percha,  made  by  herself,  which  seldom  came 
out  except  when  she  sneezed,  and  if  it  merely  fell 
at  her  feet  this  was  a  sign  that  the  cold  was  to  be 
a  slight  one,  but  if  it  shot  across  the  room  she 
knew  she  was  in  for  something  notable.  Irene's 
tooth  was  very  favourably  known  in  the  Gardens, 
where  the  perambulators  used  to  gather  round  her 
to  hear  whether  it  had  been  doing  anything  to- 
day, and  I  would  not  have  grudged  David  his  pro- 
prietary pride  in  it,  had  he  seemed  to  understand 
that  Irene's  one  poor  little  accomplishment,  though 
l$5 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

undeniably  showy,  was  without  Intellectual  merit. 
I  have  sometimes  stalked  away  from  him,  intimat- 
ing that  if  his  regard  was  to  be  got  so  cheaply 
I  begged  to  retire  from  the  competition,  but  the 
Gardens  are  the  pleasantest  club  in  London,  and  I 
soon  returned.  How  I  scoured  the  Gardens  looking 
for  him,  and  how  skilful  I  became  at  picking  him 
out  far  away  among  the  trees,  though  other 
mothers  imitated  the  picturesque  attire  of  him,  to 
Mary's  indignation.  I  also  cut  Irene's  wings  (so 
to  speak)  by  taking  her  to  a  dentist. 

And  David  did  some  adorable  things.  For  in- 
stance, he  used  my  pockets  as  receptacles  into  which 
he  put  any  article  he  might  not  happen  to  want 
at  the  moment.  He  shoved  it  in,  quite  as  if  they  were 
his  own  pockets,  without  saying.  By  your  leave, 
and  perhaps  I  discovered  it  on  reaching  home — a 
tin-soldier,  or  a  pistol — when  I  put  it  on  my  man- 
tleshelf  and  sighed.  And  here  is  another  pleasant 
memory.  One  day  I  had  been  over-friendly  to  an- 
other boy,  and,  after  enduring  it  for  some  time 
David  up  and  struck  him.  It  was  exactly  as  Porthos 
does,  when  I  favour  other  dogs  (he  knocks  them 
136 


i 


THE    PLEASANTEST    CLUB 

down  with  his  foot  and  stands  over  them,  looking 
very  noble  and  stern),  so  I  knew  its  meaning  at 
once ;  it  was  David's  first  pubhc  intimation  that  he 
knew  I  belonged  to  him. 

Irene  scolded  him  for  striking  that  boy,  and 
made  him  stand  in  disgrace  at  the  corner  of  a  seat 
in  the  Broad  Walk.  The  seat  at  the  corner  of  which 
David  stood  suffering  for  love  of  me,  is  the  one 
nearest  to  the  Round  Pond  to  persons  coming  from 
the  north. 

You  may  be  sure  that  she  and  I  had  words  over 
this  fiendish  cruelty.  When  next  we  met  I  treated 
her  as  one  who  no  longer  existed,  and  at  first  she 
bridled  and  then  was  depressed,  and  as  I  was  going 
away  she  burst  into  tears.  She  cried  because  neither 
at  meeting  nor  parting  had  I  lifted  my  hat  to  her, 
a  foolish  custom  of  mine,  of  which,  as  I  now  learned 
to  my  surprise,  she  was  very  proud.  She  and  I  still 
have  our  tiffs,  but  I  have  never  since  then  forgotten 
to  lift  my  hat  to  Irene.  I  also  made  her  promise  to 
bow  to  me,  at  which  she  affected  to  scoff,  saying  I 
was  taking  my  fun  of  her,  but  she  was  really 
pleased,  and  I  tell  you,  Irene  has  one  of  the  prettiest 
137 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

and  most  touching  little  bows  imaginable ;  it  is  half 
to  the  side  (if  I  may  so  express  myself),  which  has 
always  been  my  favourite  bow,  and,  I  doubt  not, 
she  acquired  it  by  watching  Mary. 

I  should  be  sorry  to  have  it  thought,  as  you  may 
now  be  thinking,  that  I  look  on  children  as  on 
puppy-dogs,  who  care  only  for  play.  Perhaps  that 
was  my  idea  when  first  I  tried  to  lure  David  to  my 
unaccustomed  arms,  and  even  for  some  time  after, 
for  if  I  am  to  be  candid,  I  must  own  that  until  he 
was  three  years  old  I  sought  merely  to  amuse  him. 
God  forgive  me,  but  I  had  only  one  day  a  week 
in  which  to  capture  him,  and  I  was  very  raw  at  the 
business. 

I  was  about  to  say  that  David  opened  my  eyes 
to  the  folly  of  it,  but  really  I  think  this  was  Irene's 
doing.  Watching  her  with  children  I  learned  that 
partial  as  they  are  to  fun  they  are  moved  almost 
more  profoundly  by  moral  excellence.  So  fond  of 
babes  was  this  little  mother  that  she  had  always 
room  near  her  for  one  more,  and  often  have  I  seen 
her  in  the  Gardens,  the  centre  of  a  dozen  mites  who 
gazed  awestruck  at  her  while  she  told  them  severeljr 
138 


THE    PLEASANTEST    CLUB 

how  little  ladies  and  gentlemen  behave.  They  were 
children  of  the  well-to-pass,  and  she  was  from 
Drury  Lane,  but  they  believed  in  her  as  the  greatest 
of  all  authorities  on  little  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
and  the  more  they  heard  of  how  these  romantic 
creatures  keep  themselves  tidy  and  avoid  pools  and 
wait  till  they  come  to  a  gate,  the  more  they  admired 
them,  though  their  faces  showed  how  profoundly 
they  felt  that  to  be  little  ladies  and  gentlemen  was 
not  for  them.  You  can't  think  what  hopeless  little 
faces  they  were. 

Children  are  not  at  all  like  puppies,  I  have  said. 
But  do  puppies  care  only  for  play?  That  wistful 
look,  which  the  merriest  of  them  sometimes  wear, 
I  wonder  whether  it  means  that  they  would  like  to 
hear  about  the  good  puppies.? 

As  you  shall  see,  I  invented  many  stories  for 
David,  practising  the  telling  of  them  by  my  fireside 
as  if  they  were  conjuring  feats,  while  Irene  knew 
only  one,  but  she  told  it  as  never  has  any  other 
fairy-tale  been  told  in  my  hearing.  It  was  the 
prettiest  of  them  all,  and  was  recited  by  the 
heroine. 

139 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

"Why  were  the  king  and  queen  not  at  home?" 
David  would  ask  her  breathlessly. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Irene,  thinking  it  out,  "they 
was  away  buying  the  victuals." 

She  always  told  the  story  gazing  into  vacancy, 
so  that  David  thought  it  was  really  happening 
somewhere  up  the  Broad  Walk,  and  when  she  came 
to  its  great  moments  her  little  bosom  heaved.  Never 
shall  I  forget  the  concentrated  scorn  with  which 
the  prince  said  to  the  sisters,  "Neither  of  you  ain't 
the  one  what  wore  the  glass  slipper." 

"And  then — and  then — and  then — ,"  said  Irene, 
not  artistically  to  increase  the  suspense,  but  because 
it  was  all  so  glorious  to  her. 

"Tell  me — tell  me  quick,"  cried  David,  though 
he  knew  the  tale  by  heart. 

"She  sits  down  like,"  said  Irene,  trembling  in 
second-sight,  "and  she  tries  on  the  glass  slipper, 
and  it  fits  her  to  a  T,  and  then  the  prince,  he  cries 
in  a  ringing  voice,  'This  here  is  my  true  love,  Cin- 
derella, what  now  I  makes  my  lawful  wedded 
wife.'  " 

Then  she  would  come  out  of  her  dream,  and  look 
140 


THE    PLEASANTEST    CLUB 

round  at  the  grandees  of  the  Gardens  with  an  ex- 
traordinary elation.  "Her,  as  was  only  a  kitchen 
drudge,"  she  would  say  in  a  strange  soft  voice  and 
with  shining  eyes,  "but  was  true  and  faithful  in 
word  and  deed,  such  was  her  reward." 

I  am  sure  that  had  the  fairy  godmother  appeared 
just  then  and  touched  Irene  with  her  wand,  David 
would  have  been  interested  rather  than  astonished. 
As  for  myself,  I  believe  I  have  surprised  this  little 
girl's  secret.  She  knows  there  are  no  fairy  god- 
mothers nowadays,  but  she  hopes  that  if  she  is  al- 
ways true  and  faithful  she  may  some  day  turn  into 
a  lady  in  word  and  deed,  like  the  mistress  whom 
she  adores. 

It  is  a  dead  secret,  a  Drury  Lane  child's  ro- 
mance ;  but  what  an  amount  of  heavy  artillery  will 
be  brought  to  bear  against  it  in  this  sad  London 
of  ours.  Not  much  chance  for  her,  I  suppose. 

Good  luck  to  you,  Irene. 


141 


XIII 

THE  GRAND  TOUR  OF  THE  GARDENS 

jL  OU  must  see  for  yourselves  that  it  will  be  diffi- 
cult to  follow  our  adventures  unless  you  are  famil- 
iar with  the  Kensington  Gardens,  as  they  now  be- 
came known  to  David.  They  are  in  London,  where 
the  King  lives,  and  you  go  to  them  every  day  unless 
you  are  looking  decidedly  flushed,  but  no  one  has 
ever  been  in  the  whole  of  the  Gardens,  because  it 
is  so  soon  time  to  turn  back.  The  reason  it  is  soon 
time  to  turn  back  is  that  you  sleep  from  twelve  to 
one.  If  your  mother  was  not  so  sure  that  you  sleep 
from  twelve  to  one,  you  could  most  likely  see  the 
whole  of  them. 

The  Gardens  are  bounded  on  one  side  by  a  never- 
ending  line  of  omnibuses,  over  which  Irene  has  such 
authority  that  if  she  holds  up  her  finger  to  any 
one  of  them  it  stops  immediately.  She  then  crosses 
with  you  in  safety  to  the  other  side.  There  are 
142 


TOUR    OF    THE    GARDENS 

more  gates  to  the  Gardens  than  one  gate,  but  that 
is  the  one  you  go  in  at,  and  before  you  go  in  you 
speak  to  the  lady  with  the  balloons,  who  sits  just 
outside.  This  is  as  near  to  being  inside  as  she  may 
venture,  because,  if  she  were  to  let  go  her  hold  of 
the  railings  for  one  moment,  the  balloons  would 
lift  her  up,  and  she  would  be  flown  away.  She  sits 
very  squat,  for  the  balloons  are  always  tugging  at 
her,  and  the  strain  has  given  her  quite  a  red  face. 
Once  she  was  a  new  one,  because  the  old  one  had 
let  go,  and  David  was  very  sorry  for  the  old 
one,  but  as  she  did  let  go,  he  wished  he  had  been 
there  to  see. 

The  Gardens  are  a  tremendous  big  place,  with 
millions  and  hundreds  of  trees,  and  first  you  come 
to  the  Figs,  but  you  scorn  to  loiter  there,  for  the 
Figs  is  the  resort  of  superior  little  persons,  who  are 
forbidden  to  mix  with  the  commonalty,  and  is  so 
named,  according  to  legend,  because  they  dress  in 
full  fig.  These  dainty  ones  are  themselves  contempt- 
uously called  Figs  by  David  and  other  heroes,  and 
you  have  a  key  to  the  manners  and  customs  of  this 
dandiacal  section  of  the  Gardens  when  I  tell  you 
143 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

that  cricket  is  called  crickets  here.  Occasionally  a 
rebel  Fig  climbs  over  the  fence  into  the  world,  and 
such  a  one  was  Miss  Mabel  Grey,  of  whom  I  shall 
tell  you  when  we  come  to  Miss  Mabel  Grey's  gate. 
She  was  the  only  really  celebrated  Fig. 

We  are  now  in  the  Broad  Walk,  and  it  is  as  much 
bigger  than  the  other  walks  as  your  father  is 
bigger  than  you.  David  wondered  if  it  began  little, 
and  grew  and  grew,  till  it  was  quite  grown  up,  and 
whether  the  other  walks  are  its  babies,  and  he  drew 
a  picture,  which  diverted  him  very  much,  of  the 
Broad  Walk  giving  a  tiny  walk  an  airing  in  a 
perambulator.  In  the  Broad  Walk  you  meet  all  the 
people  who  are  worth  knowing,  and  there  is  usually 
a  grown-up  with  them  to  prevent  their  going  on 
the  damp  grass,  and  to  make  them  stand  disgraced 
at  the  corner  of  a  seat  if  they  have  been  mad-dog 
or  Mary-Annish.  To  be  Mary-Annish  is  to  behave 
like  a  girl,  whimpering  because  nurse  won't  carry 
you,  or  simpering  with  your  thumb  in  your  mouth, 
and  it  is  a  hateful  quality,  but  to  be  mad-dog  is 
to  kick  out  at  everything,  and  there  is  some  satis- 
faction in  that. 

U4> 


TOUR    OF    THE    GARDENS 

If  I  were  to  point  out  all  the  notable  places  as 
we  pass  up  the  Broad  Walk,  it  would  be  time  to 
turn  back  before  we  reach  them,  and  I  simply  wave 
my  stick  at  Cecco's  Tree,  that  memorable  spot 
where  a  boy  called  Cecco  lost  his  penny,  and,  look- 
ing for  it,  found  twopence.  There  has  been  a  good 
deal  of  excavation  going  on  there  ever  since.  Far- 
ther up  the  walk  is  the  little  wooden  house  in  which 
Marmaduke  Perry  hid.  There  is  no  more  awful 
story  of  the  Gardens  by  day  than  this  of  Marma- 
duke Perry,  who  had  been  Mary-Annish  three  days 
in  succession,  and  was  sentenced  to  appear  in  the 
Broad  Walk  dressed  in  his  sister's  clothes.  He  hid 
in  the  little  wooden  house,  and  refused  to  emerge 
until  they  brought  him  knickerbockers  with 
pockets. 

You  now  try  to  go  to  the  Round  Pond,  but 
nurses  hate  it,  because  they  are  not  really  manly, 
and  they  make  you  look  the  other  way,  at  the  Big 
Penny  and  the  Baby's  Palace.  She  was  the  most 
celebrated  baby  of  the  Gardens,  and  lived  in  the 
palace  all  alone,  with  ever  so  many  dolls,  so  people 
rang  the  bell,  and  up  she  got  out  of  her  bed, 
145 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

though  it  was  past  six  o'clock,  and  she  lighted  a 
candle  and  opened  the  door  in  her  nightj^  and 
then  the  J  all  cried  with  great  rejoicings,  "Hail, 
Queen  of  England!"  What  puzzled  David  most 
was  how  she  knew  where  the  matches  were  kept. 
The  Big  Penny  is  a  statue  about  her. 

Next  we  come  to  the  Hump,  which  is  the  part 
of  the  Broad  Walk  where  all  the  big  races  are  run, 
and  even  though  you  had  no  intention  of  running 
you  do  run  when  you  come  to  the  Hump,  it  is  such 
a  fascinating,  slide-down  kind  of  place.  Often  you 
stop  when  you  have  run  about  half-way  down  it, 
and  then  you  are  lost,  but  there  is  another  little 
wooden  house  near  here,  called  the  Lost  House, 
and  so  you  tell  the  man  that  you  are  lost  and  then 
he  finds  you.  It  is  glorious  fun  racing  down  the 
Hump,  but  you  can't  do  it  on  windy  days  because 
then  you  are  not  there,  but  the  fallen  leaves  do  it 
instead  of  you.  There  is  almost  nothing  that  has 
such  a  keen  sense  of  fun  as  a  fallen  leaf. 

From  the  Hump  we  can  see  the  gate  that  is  called 
after  Miss  Mabel  Grey,  the  Fig  I  promised  to  tell 
you  about.  There  were  always  two  nurses  with  her, 
146 


TOUR    OF    THE    GARDENS 

or  else  one  mother  and  one  nurse^  and  for  a  long^ 
time  she  was  a  pattern-child  who  always  coughed 
off  the  table  and  said,  "How  do  you  do?"  to  the 
other  Figs,  and  the  only  game  she  played  at  was 
flinging  a  ball  gracefully  and  letting  the  nurse 
bring  it  back  to  her.  Then  one  day  she  tired  of  it 
all  and  went  mad-dog,  and,  first,  to  show  that  she 
really  was  mad-dog,  she  unloosened  both  her  boot- 
laces and  put  out  her  tongue  east,  west,  north,  and 
south.  She  then  flung  her  sash  into  a  puddle  and 
danced  on  it  till  dirty  water  was  squirted  over  her 
frock,  after  which  she  climbed  the  fence  and  had  a 
series  of  incredible  adventures,  one  of  the  least  of 
which  was  that  she  kicked  off^  both  her  boots.  At  last 
she  came  to  the  gate  that  is  now  called  after  her,  out 
of  which  she  ran  into  streets  David  and  I  have 
never  been  in  though  we  have  heard  them  roaring, 
and  still  she  ran  on  and  would  never  again  have 
been  heard  of  had  not  her  mother  jumped  into  a 
bus  and  thus  overtaken  her.  It  all  happened,  I 
should  say,  long  ago,  and  this  is  not  the  Mabel 
Grey  whom  David  knows. 

Returning  up  the  Broad  Walk  we  have  on  our 
14T 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

right  the  Baby  Walk,  which  Is  so  full  of  peram- 
bulators that  you  could  cross  from  side  to  side 
stepping  on  babies,  but  the  nurses  won't  let  you  do 
it.  From  this  walk  a  passage  called  Bunting's 
Thumb,  because  it  is  that  length,  leads  into  Picnic 
Street,  where  there  are  real  kettles,  and  chestnut- 
blossom  falls  Into  your  mug  as  you  are  drinking. 
Quite  common  children  picnic  here  also,  and  the 
blossom  falls  into  their  mugs  just  the  same. 

Next  comes  St.  Govor's  Well,  which  was  full 
of  water  when  Malcolm  the  Bold  fell  Into  it.  He 
was  his  mother's  favourite,  and  he  let  her  put  her 
arm  round  his  neck  in  public  because  she  was  a 
widow,  but  he  was  also  partial  to  adventures  and 
liked  to  play  with  a  chimney-sweep  who  had  killed 
a  good  many  bears.  The  sweep's  name  was  Sooty, 
and  one  day  when  they  were  playing  near  the  well, 
Malcolm  fell  in  and  would  have  been  drowned  had 
not  Sooty  dived  In  and  rescued  him,  and  the  water 
had  washed  Sooty  clean  and  he  now  stood  revealed 
as  Malcolm's  long-lost  father.  So  Malcolm  would 
not  let  his  mother  put  her  arm  round  his  neck  any 
more. 

148 


TOUR    OF    THE    GARDENS 

Between  the  well  and  the  Round  Pond  are  the 
cricket-pitches,  and  frequently  the  choosing  of 
sides  exhausts  so  much  time  that  there  is  scarcely 
any  cricket.  Everybody  wants  to  bat  first,  and  as 
soon  as  he  is  out  he  bowls  unless  you  are  the  better 
wrestler,  and  while  you  are  wrestling  with  him  the 
fielders  have  scattered  to  play  at  something  else. 
The  Gardens  are  noted  for  two  kinds  of  cricket: 
boy  cricket,  which  is  real  cricket  with  a  bat,  and 
girl  cricket,  which  is  with  a  racquet  and  the  gov- 
erness. Girls  can't  really  play  cricket,  and  when 
you  are  watching  their  futile  efforts  you  make 
funny  sounds  at  them.  Nevertheless,  there  was  a 
very  disagreeable  incident  one  day  when  some  for- 
ward girls  challenged  David's  team,  and  a  disturb- 
ing creature  called  Angela  Clare  sent  down  so  many 
yorkers  that — However,  instead  of  telling  you  the 
result  of  that  regrettable  match  I  shall  pass  on 
hurriedly  to  the  Round  Pond,  which  is  the  wheel 
that  keeps  all  the  Gardens  going. 

It  is  round  because  it  is  in  the  very  middle  of 
the  Gardens,  and  when  you  are  come  to  it  you  never 
want  to  go  any  farther.  You  can't  be  good  all  the 
149 


THE   LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

time  at  the  Round  Pond,  however  much  you  try. 
You  can  be  good  in  the  Broad  Walk  all  the  time, 
but  not  at  the  Round  Pond,  and  the  reason  is  that 
you  forget,  and,  when  you  remember,  you  are  so 
wet  that  you  may  as  well  be  wetter.  There  are 
men  who  sail  boats  on  the  Round  Pond,  such  big 
boats  that  they  bring  them  in  barrows  and  some- 
times in  perambulators,  and  then  the  baby  has 
to  walk.  The  bow-legged  children  in  the  Gardens- 
are  these  who  had  to  walk  too  soon  because  their 
father  needed  the  piBrambulator. 

You  always  want  to  have  a  yacht  to  sail  on  the 
Round  Pond,  and  in  the  end  your  uncle  gives  you 
one;  and  to  carry  it  to  the  Pond  the  first  day  is 
splendid,  also  to  talk  about  it  to  boys  who  have  no 
uncle  is  splendid,  but  soon  you  like  to  leave  it  at 
home.  For  the  sweetest  craft  that  slips  her  moorings 
in  the  Round  Pond  is  what  is  called  a  stick-boat, 
because  she  is  rather  like  a  stick  until  she  is  in  the 
water  and  you  are  holding  the  string.  Then  as  you 
walk  round,  pulHng  her,  you  see  little  men  running 
abmit  her  deck,  and  sails  rise  magically  and  catdi 
tbe  hf^^e,  aad  you  put  in  on  dirty  nights  at  snug 
150 


•1  i 


^r' 


-% 


:,  J-. 


ii  \     4^J^ 


./ 


Z'?-. 

,*  i 


to 

1    ''■'    7i 

"       5 


o 

'-«  a 

•  ■'  Z 


TOUR    OF    THE    GARDENS 

harbours  which  are  unknown  to  the  lordly  yachts. 
Night  passes  in  a  twink,  and  again  your  rakish 
craft  noses  for  the  wind,  whales  spout,  you  glide 
over  buried  cities,  and  have  brushes  with  pirates 
and  cast  anchor  on  coral  isles.  You  are  a  solitary 
boy  while  all  this  is  taking  place,  for  two  boys 
together  cannot  adventure  far  upon  the  Round 
Pond,  and  though  you  may  talk  to  yourself 
throughout  the  voyage,  giving  orders  and  execut* 
ing  them  with  dispatch,  you  know  not,  when  it  is 
time  to  go  home,  where  you  have  been  or  what 
swelled  your  sails ;  your  treasure-trove  is  all  locked 
away  in  your  hold,  so  to  speak,  which  will  he 
opened,  perhaps,  by  another  little  boy  many  years 
afterward. 

But  those  yachts  have  nothing  in  their  hold.  Does 
anyone  return  to  this  haunt  of  his  youth  because 
of  the  yachts  that  used  to  sail  it?  Oh,  no.  It  is 
the  stick-boat  that  is  freighted  with  memories.  The 
yachts  are  toys,  their  owner  a  fresh-water  mariner, 
they  can  cross  and  recross  a  pond  only  while  the 
stick-boat  goes  to  sea.  You  yachtsmen  with  your 
wands,  who  think  we  are  all  there  to  gaze  on  you, 
151 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

your  ships  are  only  accidents  of  this  place,  and 
were  they  all  to  be  boarded  and  sunk  by  the  ducks 
the  real  business  of  the  Round  Pond  would  be  car- 
ried on  as  usual. 

Paths  from  everywhere  crowd  like  children  to 
the  pond.  Some  of  them  are  ordinary  paths,  which 
have  a  rail  on  each  side,  and  are  made  by  men  with 
their  coats  off,  but  others  are  vagrants,  wide  at  one 
spot  and  at  another  so  narrow  that  you  can  stand 
astride  them.  They  are  called  Paths  that  have 
Made  Themselves,  and  David  did  wish  he  could  see 
them  doing  it.  But,  like  all  the  most  wonderful 
things  that  happen  in  the  Gardens,  it  is  done,  we 
concluded,  at  night  after  the  gates  are  closed.  We 
have  also  decided  that  the  paths  make  themselves 
because  it  is  their  only  chance  of  getting  to  the 
Round  Pond. 

One  of  these  gypsy  paths  comes  from  the  place 
where  the  sheep  get  their  hair  cut.  When  David 
shed  his  curls  at  the  hair-dresser's,  I  am  told,  he 
said  good-bye  to  them  without  a  tremor,  though 
Mary  has  never  been  quite  the  same  bright  creature 
since,  so  he  despises  the  sheep  as  they  run  from 
152 


TOUR    OF    THE    GARDENS 

their  shearer  and  calls  out  tauntingly,  "Cowardy, 
cowardy  custard!"  But  when  the  man  grips  them 
between  his  legs  David  shakes  a  fist  at  him  for 
using  such  big  scissors.  Another  startling  moment 
is  when  the  man  turns  back  the  grimy  wool  from 
the  sheeps'  shoulders  and  they  look  suddenly  like 
ladies  in  the  stalls  of  a  theatre.  The  sheep  are  so 
frightened  by  the  shearing  that  it  makes  them  quite 
white  and  thin,  and  as  soon  as  they  are  set  free  they 
begin  to  nibble  the  grass  at  once,  quite  anxiously, 
as  if  they  feared  that  they  would  never  be  worth 
eating.  David  wonders  whether  they  know  each 
other,  now  that  they  are  so  different,  and  if  it  makes 
them  fight  with  the  wrong  ones.  They  are  great 
fighters,  and  thus  so  unlike  country  sheep  that 
every  year  they  give  Porthos  a  shock.  He  can  make 
a  field  of  country  sheep  fly  by  merely  announcing 
his  approach,  but  these  town  sheep  come  toward 
him  with  no  promise  of  gentle  entertainment,  and 
then  a  light  from  last  year  breaks  upon  Porthos. 
He  cannot  with  dignity  retreat,  but  he  stops  and 
looks  about  him  as  if  lost  in  admiration  of  the 
scenery,  and  presently  he  strolls  away  with  a  fine 
153 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

indifference  and  a  glint  at  me  from  the  comer  of 
his  eye. 

The  Serpentine  begins  near  here.  It  is  a  lovely 
lake,  and  there  is  a  drowned  forest  at  the  bottom 
of  it.  If  you  peer  over  the  edge  you  can  see  the 
trees  all  growing  upside  down,  and  they  say  that 
at  night  there  are  also  drowned  stars  in  it.  If  so, 
Peter  Pan  sees  them  when  he  is  sailing  across  the 
lake  in  the  Thrush's  Nest.  A  small  part  only  of 
the  Serpentine  is  in  the  Gardens,  for  soon  it  passes 
beneath  a  bridge  to  far  away  where  the  island  is 
on  which  all  the  birds  are  born  that  become  baby 
boys  and  girls.  No  one  who  is  human,  except  Peter 
Pan  (and  he  is  only  half  human),  can  land  on  the 
island,  but  you  may  write  what  you  want  (boy  or 
girl,  dark  or  fair)  on  a  piece  of  paper,  and  then 
twist  it  into  the  shape  of  a  boat  and  slip  it  into 
the  water,  and  it  reaches  Peter  Pan's  island  after 
dark. 

We  are  on  the  way  home  now,  though,  of  course, 

it  is  all  pretence  that  we  can  go  to  so  many  of 

the  places  in  one  day.   I  should  have  had  to  be 

carrying  David  long  ago  and  resting  on  every  seat 

154 


TOUR    OF    THE    GARDENS 

like  old  Mr.  Salford.  That  was  what  we  called  him, 
because  he  always  talked  to  us  of  a  lovely  place 
called  Salford  where  he  had  been  bom.  He  was  a 
crab-apple  of  an  old  gentleman  who  wandered  all 
day  in  the  Gardens  from  seat  to  seat  trying  to  fall 
in  with  somebody  who  was  acquainted  with  the 
town  of  Salford,  and  when  we  had  known  him  for 
a  year  or  more  we  actually  did  meet  another  aged 
solitary  who  had  once  spent  Saturday  to  Monday 
in  Salford.  He  was  meek  and  timid  and  carried 
his  address  inside  his  hat,  and  whatever  part  of 
London  he  was  in  search  of  he  always  went  to  the 
General  Post-office  first  as  a  starting-point.  Him 
we  carried  in  triumph  to  our  other  friend,  with 
the  story  of  that  Saturday  to  Monday,  and  never 
shall  I  forget  the  gloating  joy  with  which  Mr. 
Salford  leapt  at  him.  They  have  been  cronies  ever 
since,  and  I  notice  that  Mr.  Salford,  who  naturally 
does  most  of  the  talking,  keeps  tight  grip  of  the 
other  old  man's  coat. 

The  two  last  places  before  you  come  to  our  gate 
are  the  Dog's  Cemetery  and  the  chaffinch's  nest, 
but  we  pretend  not  to  know  what  the  Dog's  Ceme- 
155 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

tery  is,  as  Porthos  is  always  with  us.  The  nest  is 
very  sad.  It  is  quite  white,  and  the  way  we  found 
it  was  wonderful.  We  were  having  another  look 
among  the  bushes  for  David's  lost  worsted  ball, 
and  instead  of  the  ball  we  found  a  lovely  nest 
made  of  the  worsted,  and  containing  four  eggs, 
*  with  scratches  on  them  very  like  David's  hand- 
writing, so  we  think  they  must  have  been  the 
mother's  love-letters  to  the  little  ones  inside.  Every 
day  we  were  in  the  Gardens  we  paid  a  call  at  the 
nest,  taking  care  that  no  cruel  boy  should  see  us, 
and  we  dropped  crumbs,  and  soon  the  bird  knew 
us  as  friends,  and  sat  in  the  nest  looking  at  us 
kindly  with  her  shoulders  hunched  up.  But  one  day 
when  we  went,  there  were  only  two  eggs  in  the  nest, 
and  the  next  time  there  were  none.  The  saddest 
part  of  it  was  that  the  poor  little  chaffinch  fluttered 
about  the  bushes,  looking  so  reproachfully  at  us 
that  we  knew  she  thought  we  had  done  it,  and 
though  David  tried  to  explain  to  her,  it  was  so 
long  since  he  had  spoken  the  bird  language  that 
I  fear  she  did  not  understand.  He  and  I  left  the 
Gardens  that  day  with  our  knuckles  in  our  eyes. 
156 


XIV 

PETER     PAN 

XF  you  ask  your  mother  whether  she  knew  about 
Peter  Pan  when  she  was  a  little  girl  she  will  say, 
'^Why,  of  course,  I  did,  child,"  and  if  you  ask  her 
whether  he  rode  on  a  goat  in  those  days  she  will 
say,  "What  a  foolish  question  to  ask ;  certainly  he 
did."  Then  if  you  ask  your  grandmother  whether 
she  knew  about  Peter  Pan  when  she  was  a  girl, 
she  also  says,  "Why,  of  course,  I  did,  child,"  but 
if  you  ask  her  whether  he  rode  on  a  goat  in  those 
days,  she  says  she  never  heard  of  his  having  a  goat. 
Perhaps  she  has  forgotten,  just  as  she  sometimes 
forgets  your  name  and  calls  you  Mildred,  which 
is  your  mother's  name.  Still,  she  could  hardly  for- 
get such  an  important  thing  as  the  goat.  There- 
fore there  was  no  goat  when  your  grandmother 
was  a  little  girl.  This  shows  that,  in  telling  the 
story  of  Peter  Pan,  to  begin  with  the  goat  (as  most 
people  do)  is  as  silly  as  to  put  on  your  jacket 
before  your  vest. 

157 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

Of  course,  it  also  shows  that  Peter  is  ever  so 
old,  but  he  is  really  always  the  same  age,  so  that 
does  not  matter  in  the  least.  His  age  is  one  week, 
and  though  he  was  bom  so  long  ago  he  has  never 
had  a  birthday,  nor  is  there  the  slightest  chance 
of  his  ever  having  one.  The  reason  is  that  he 
escaped  from  being  a  human  when  he  was  seven 
days'  old ;  he  escaped  by  the  window  and  flew  back 
to  the  Kensington  Gardens. 

If  you  think  he  was  the  only  baby  who  ever 
wanted  to  escape,  it  shows  how  completely  you  have 
forgotten  your  own  young  days.  When  David 
heard  this  story  first  he  was  quite  certain  that  he 
had  never  tried  to  escape,  but  I  told  him  to  think 
back  hard,  pressing  his  hands  to  his  temples,  and 
when  he  had  done  this  hard,  and  even  harder, 
he  distinctly  remembered  a  youthful  desire  to  re- 
turn to  the  tree-tops,  and  with  that  memory  came 
others,  as  that  he  had  lain  in  bed  planning  to  es- 
cape as  soon  as  his  mother  was  asleep,  and  how  she 
had  once  caught  him  half-way  up  the  chimney. 
All  children  could  have  such  recollections  if  they 
would  press  their  hands  hard  to  their  temples,  for, 
158 


PETER    PAN 

having  been  birds  before  thej  were  human,  they 
are  naturally  a  little  wild  during  the  first  few 
weeks,  and  very  itchy  at  the  shoulders,  where  their 
wings  used  to  be.  So  David  tells  me. 

I  ought  to  mention  here  that  the  following  is 
our  way  with  a  story:  First,  I  tell  it  to  him,  and 
then  he  tells  it  to  me,  the  understanding  being  that 
it  is  quite  a  different  story ;  and  then  I  retell  it 
with  his  additions,  and  so  we  go  on  until  no  one 
could  say  whether  it  is  more  his  story  or  mine.  In 
this  story  of  Peter  Pan,  for  instance,  the  bald  nar- 
rative and  most  of  the  moral  reflections  are  mine, 
though  not  all,  for  this  boy  can  be  a  stern  moralist, 
but  the  interesting  bits  about  the  ways  and  cus- 
toms of  babies  in  the  bird-stage  are  mostly  remi- 
niscences of  David's,  recalled  by  pressing  his  hands 
to  his  temples  and  thinking  hard. 

Well,  Peter  Pan  got  out  by  the  window,  which 
had  no  bars.  Standing  on  the  ledge  he  could  see 
trees  far  away,  which  were  doubtless  the  Kensing- 
ton Gardens,  and  the  moment  he  saw  them  he  en- 
tirely forgot  that  he  was  now  a  little  boy  in  a  night- 
gown, and  away  he  flew,  right  over  the  houses  to 
159 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

the  Gardens.  It  is  wonderful  that  he  could  fly  with- 
out wings,  but  the  place  itched  tremendously,  and, 
perhaps  we  could  all  fly  if  we  were  as  dead-confi- 
dent-sure of  our  capacity  to  do  it  as  was  bold  Peter 
Pan  that  evening. 

He  alighted  gaily  on  the  open  sward,  between 
the  Baby's  Palace  and  the  Serpentine,  and  the  first 
thing  he  did  was  to  lie  on  his  back  and  kick.  He  was 
quite  unaware  already  that  he  had  ever  been  hu- 
man, and  thought  he  was  a  bird,  even  in  appear- 
ance, just  the  same  as  in  his  early  days,  and  when 
he  tried  to  catch  a  fly  he  did  not  understand  that 
the  reason  he  missed  it  was  because  he  had  at- 
tempted to  seize  it  with  his  hand,  which,  of  course, 
a  bird  never  does.  He  saw,  however,  that  it  must 
be  past  Lock-out  Time,  for  there  were  a  good  many 
fairies  about,  all  too  busy  to  notice  him ;  they  were 
getting  breakfast  ready,  milking  then-  cows,  draw- 
ing water,  and  so  on,  and  the  sight  of  the  water- 
pails  made  him  thirsty,  so  he  flew  over  to  the  Round 
Pond  to  have  a  drink.  He  stooped,  and  dipped 
his  beak  in  the  pond;  he  thought  it  was  his  beak, 
but,  of  course,  it  was  only  his  nose,  and,  therefore, 
160 


PETER    PAN 

very  little  water  came  up,  and  that  not  so  refresh- 
ing as  usual,  so  next  he  tried  a  puddle,  and  he 
fell  flop  into  it.  When  a  real  bird  falls  in 
flop,  he  spreads  out  his  feathers  and  pecks  them 
dry,  but  Peter  could  not  remember  what  was 
1  the  thing  to  do,  and  he  decided,  rather  sulkily, 
to  go  to  sleep  on  the  weeping  beech  in  the  Baby 
Walk. 

At  first  he  found  some  difficulty  in  balancing 
himself  on  a  branch,  but  presently  he  remembered 
the  way,  and  fell  asleep.  He  awoke  long  before 
morning,  shivering,  and  saying  to  himself,  "I  never 
was  out  in  such  a  cold  night;"  he  had  really  been 
out  in  colder  nights  when  he  was  a  bird,  but,  of 
course,  as  everybody  knows,  what  seems  a  warm 
night  to  a  bird  is  a  cold  night  to  a  boy  in  a  night- 
gown. Peter  also  felt  strangely  uncomfortable,  as 
if  his  head  was  stuffy,  he  heard  loud  noises  that 
made  him  look  round  sharply,  though  they  were 
really  himself  sneezing.  There  was  something  he 
wanted  very  much,  but,  though  he  knew  he  wanted 
it,  he  could  not  think  what  it  was.  What  he  wanted 
so  much  was  his  mother  to  blow  his  nose,  but  that 
161 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

never  struck  him,  so  he  decided  to  appeal  to  the 
fairies  for  enHghtenment.  They  are  reputed  to 
know  a  good  deal. 

There  were  two  ^f  them  strolling  along  the  Baby 
Walk,  with  their  arms  round  each  other's  waists, 
and  he  hopped  down  to  address  them.  The  fairies 
have  their  tiffs  with  the  birds,  but  they  usually  give 
a  civil  answer  to  a  civil  question,  and  he  was  quite 
angry  when  these  two  ran  away  the  moment  they 
saw  him.  Another  was  lolling  on  a  garden-chair, 
reading  a  postage-stamp  wliich  some  human  had 
let  fall,  and  when  he  heard  Peter's  voice  he  popped 
in  alarm  behind  a  tulip. 

To  Peter's  bewilderment  he  discovered  that  every 
fairy  he  met  fled  from  him.  A  band  of  workmen, 
who  were  sawing  down  a  toadstool,  rushed  away, 
leaving  their  tools  behind  them.  A  milkmaid  turned 
her  pail  upside  down  and  hid  in  it.  Soon  the  Gar- 
dens were  in  an  uproar.  Crowds  of  fairies  were  run- 
ning this  way  and  that,  asking  each  other  stoutly, 
who  was  afraid,  lights  were  extinguished,  doors 
barricaded,  and  from  the  grounds  of  Queen  Mab's 
palace  came  the  rubadub  of  drums,  showing  that 
162 


PETER    PAN 

the  royal  guard  had  been  called  out.  A  regiment 
of  Lancers  came  charging  down  the  Broad  Walk, 
armed  with  holly -leaves,  with  which  they  jog  the 
enemy  horribly  in  passing.  Peter  heard  the  little 
people  crying  everywhere  that  there  was  a  human 
in  the  Gardens  after  Lock-out  Time,  but  he  never 
thought  for  a  moment  that  he  was  the  human.  He 
was  feeling  stuffier  and  stuffier,  and  more  and  more 
wistful  to  learn  what  he  wanted  done  to  his  nose, 
but  he  pursued  them  with  the  vital  question  in 
vain;  the  timid  creatures  ran  from  him,  and  even 
the  Lancers,  when  he  approached  them  up  the 
Hump,  turned  swiftly  into  a  side-walk,  on  the 
pretence  that  they  saw  him  there. 

'Despairing  of  the  fairies,  he  resolved  to  con- 
sult the  birds,  but  now  he  remembered,  as  an  odd 
thing,  that  all  the  birds  on  the  weeping  beech  had 
flown  away  when  he  alighted  on  It,  and  though 
that  had  not  troubled  him  at  the  time,  he  saw  its 
meaning  now.  Every  living  thing  was  shunning 
him.  Poor  little  Peter  Pan,  he  sat  down  and  cried, 
and  even  then  he  did  not  know  that,  for  a  bird,  he 
was  sitting  on  his  wrong  part.  It  is  a  blessing  that 
163 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

he  did  not  know,  for  otherwise  he  would  have  lost 
faith  in  his  power  to  fly,  and  the  moment  you  doubt 
whether  you  can  fly,  you  cease  forever  to  be  able 
to  do  it.  The  reason  birds  can  fly  and  we  can't  is 
simply  that  they  have  perfect  faith,  for  to  have 
faith  is  to  have  wings. 

Now,  except  by  flying,  no  one  can  reach  the 
island  in  the  Serpentine,  for  the  boats  of  humans 
are  forbidden  to  land  there,  and  there  are  stakes 
round  it,  standing  up  in  the  water,  on  each  of 
which  a  bird-sentinel  sits  by  day  and  night.  It  was 
to  the  island  that  Peter  now  flew  to  put  his  strange 
case  before  old  Solomon  Caw,  and  he  alighted  on 
it  with  relief,  much  heartened  to  find  himself  at 
last  at  home,  as  the  birds  call  the  island.  All  of 
them  were  asleep,  including  the  sentinels,  except 
Solomon,  who  was  wide  awake  on  one  side,  and  he 
listened  quietly  to  Peter's  adventures,  and  then  told 
him  their  true  meaning. 

"Look  at  your  night-gown,  if  you  don't  believe 
me,"   Solomon  said,  and  with  staring  eyes  Peter 
looked  at  his  night-gown,  and  then  at  the  sleeping 
birds.  Not  one  of  them  wore  anything. 
164 


PETER   PAN 

**How  many  of  your  toes  are  thumbs  ?"  said  Sol- 
omon a  little  cruelly,  and  Peter  saw  to  his  conster- 
nation, that  all  his  toes  were  fingers.  The  shock  was 
so  great  that  it  drove  away  his  cold. 

"Ruffle  your  feathers,"  said  that  grim  old  Solo- 
mon, and  Peter  tried  most  desperately  hard  to  ruf- 
fle his  feathers,  but  he  had  none.  Then  he  rose  up, 
quaking,  and  for  the  first  time  since  he  stood  on 
the  window-ledge,  he  remembered  a  lady  who  had 
been  very  fond  of  him. 

"I  think  I  shall  go  back  to  mother,"  he  said 
timidly. 

"Good-bye,"  replied  Solomon  Caw  with  a  queer 
look. 

But  Peter  hesitated.  "Why  don't  you  go.?"  the 
old  one  asked  politely. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Peter  huskily,  "I  suppose  I 
can  still  fly.?" 

You  see,  he  had  lost  faith. 

"Poor  little  half-and-half,"  said  Solomon,  who 
was  not  really  hard-hearted,  "you  will  never  be  able 
to  fly  again,  not  even  on  windy  days.  You  must 
live  here  on  the  island  always." 
165 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

"And  never  even  go  to  the  Kensington  Gar- 
dens?" Peter  asked  tragically. 

"How  could  you  get  across?"  said  Solomon.  He 
promised  very  kindly,  however,  to  teach  Peter  as 
many  of  the  bird  ways  as  could  be  learned  by  one 
of  such  an  awkward  shape. 

"Then  I  sha'n't  be  exactly  a  human?"  PeteE 
asked. 

"No." 

"Nor  exactly  a  bird?" 

"No." 

"What  shall  I  be?" 

"You  will  be  a  Betwixt-and-Between,"  Solomon 
said,  and  certainly  he  was  a  wise  old  fellow,  for 
that  is  exactly  how  it  turned  out. 

The  birds  on  the  island  never  got  used  to  him. 
His  oddities  tickled  them  every  day,  as  if  they  were 
quite  new,  though  it  was  really  the  birds  that  were 
new.  They  came  out  of  the  eggs  daily,  and  laughed 
at  him  at  once,  then  off  they  soon  flew  to  be  humans, 
and  other  birds  came  out  of  other  eggs,  and  so  it 
went  on  forever.  The  crafty  mother-birds,  when 
they  tired  of  sitting  on  their  eggs,  used  to  get  the 
166 


PETER    PAN 

young  one  to  break  their  shells  a  day  before  the 
right  time  by  whispering  to  them  that  now  was 
their  chance  to  see  Peter  washing  or  drinking  or 
eating.  Thousands  gathered  round  him  daily  to 
watch  him  do  these  things,  just  as  you  watch  the 
peacocks,  and  they  screamed  with  delight  when  he 
lifted  the  crusts  they  flung  him  with  his  hands 
instead  of  in  the  usual  way  with  the  mouth.  All  his 
food  was  brought  to  him  from  the  Gardens  at  Sol- 
omon's orders  by  the  birds.  He  would  not  eat  worms 
or  insects  (which  they  thought  very  silly  of  him), 
so  they  brought  him  bread  in  their  beaks.  Thus, 
when  you  cry  out,  "Greedy !  Greedy !"  to  the  bird 
that  flies  away  with  the  big  crust,  you  know  now 
that  you  ought  not  to  do  this,  for  he  is  very  likely 
taking  it  to  Peter  Pan. 

Peter  wore  no  night-gown  now.  You  see,  the  birds 
were  always  begging  him  for  bits  of  it  to  line  their 
nests  with,  and,  being  very  good-natured,  he  could 
not  refuse,  so  by  Solomon's  advice  he  had  hidden 
what  was  left  of  it.  But,  though  he  was  now  quite 
naked,  you  must  not  think  that  he  was  cold  or  un- 
happy. He  was  usually  very  happy  and  gay,  and 
167 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

the  reason  was  that  Solomon  had  kept  his  promise 
and  taught  him  many  of  the  bird  ways.  To  be  easily 
pleased,  for  instance,  and  always  to  be  really  doing 
'•something,  and  to  think  that  whatever  he  w^as  doing 
was  a  thing  of  vast  importance.  Peter  became  very 
clever  at  helping  the  birds  to  build  their  nests; 
soon  he  could  build  better  than  a  wood-pigeon,  and 
nearly  as  well  as  a  blackbird,  though  never  did  he 
satisfy  the  finches,  and  he  made  nice  little  water- 
troughs  near  the  nests  and  dug  up  worms  for  the 
young  ones  with  his  fingers.  He  also  became  very 
learned  in  bird-lore,  and  knew  an  east-wind  from 
a  west-wind  by  its  smell,  and  he  could  see  the  grass 
growing  and  hear  the  insects  walking  about  inside 
the  tree-trunks.  But  the  best  thing  Solomon  had 
done  was  to  teach  him  to  have  a  glad  heart.  All 
birds  have  glad  hearts  unless  you  rob  their  nests, 
and  so  as  they  were  the  only  kind  of  heart  Solomon 
knew  about,  it  was  easy  to  him  to  teach  Peter  how 
to  have  one. 

Peter's  heart  was  so  glad  that  he  felt  he  must 
sing  all  day  long,  just  as  the  birds  sing  for  joy, 
but,  being  partly  human,  he  needed  an  instrument, 
168 


PETER    PAN 

so  he  made  a  pipe  of  reeds,  and  he  used  to  sit  by 
the  shore  of  the  island  of  an  evening,  practising 
the  sough  of  the  wind  and  the  ripple  of  the  water, 
and  catching  handfuls  of  the  shine  of  the  moon, 
and  he  put  them  all  in  his  pipe  and  played  them 
so  beautifully  that  even  the  birds  were  deceived, 
and  they  would  say  to  each  other,  "Was  that  a 
fish  leaping  in  the  water  or  was  it  Peter  playing 
leaping  fish  on  his  pipe  ?"  and  sometimes  he  played 
the  birth  of  birds,  and  then  the  mothers  would  turn 
round  in  their  nests  to  see  whether  they  had  laid  an 
egg.  If  you  are  a  child  of  the  Gardens  you  must 
know  the  chestnut-tree  near  the  bridge,  which  comes 
out  in  flower  first  of  all  the  chestnuts,  but  perhaps 
you  have  not  heard  why  this  tree  leads  the  way.  It 
is  because  Peter  wearies  for  summer  and  plays  that 
it  has  come,  and  the  chestnut  being  so  near,  hears 
him  and  is  cheated. 

But  as  Peter  sat  by  the  shore  tootling  divinely 
on  his  pipe  he  sometimes  fell  into  sad  thoughts 
and  then  the  music  became  sad  also,  and  the  reason 
of  all  this  sadness  was  that  he  could  not  reach 
the  Gardens,  though  he  could  see  them  through 
169 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

the  arch  of  the  bridge.  He  knew  he  could  ['ever  be 
a  real  human  again,  and  scarcely  wanted  to  be 
one,  but  oh,  how  he  longed  to  play  as  other  children 
play,  and  of  course  there  is  no  such  lovely  place 
to  play  in  as  the  Gardens.  The  birds  brought  him 
news  of  how  boys  and  girls  play,  and  wistful  tears 
started  in  Peter's  eyes. 

Perhaps  you  wonder  why  he  did  not  swim  across. 
The  reason  was  that  he  could  not  swim.  He  wanted 
to  know  how  to  swim,  but  no  one  on  the  island  knew 
the  way  except  the  ducks,  and  they  are  so  stupid. 
They  were  quite  willing  to  teach  him,  but  all  they 
could  say  about  it  was,  "You  sit  down  on  the  top 
of  the  water  in  this  way,  and  then  you  kick  out 
like  that."  Peter  tried  it  often,  but  always  before 
he  could  kick  out  he  sank.  What  he  really  needed 
to  know  was  how  you  sit  on  the  water  without 
sinking,  and  they  said  it  was  quite  impossible  to 
explain  such  an  easy  thing  as  that.  Occasionally 
swans  touched  on  the  island,  and  he  would  give 
them  all  his  day's  food  and  then  ask  them  how  they 
sat  on  the  water,  but  as  soon  as  he  had  no  more  to 
give  them  the  hateful  things  hissed  at  liim  and 
sailed  away. 


PETER    PAN 

Once  he  really  thought  he  had  discovered  a  way 
of  reaching  the  Gardens.  A  wonderful  white  thing, 
Ijke  a  runaway  newspaper,  floated  high  over  the 
island  and  then  tumbled,  rolling  over  and  over  after 
the  manner  of  a  bird  that  has  broken  its  wing. 
Peter  was  so  frightened  that  he  hid,  but  the  birds 
told  him  it  was  only  a  kite,  and  what  a  kite  is,  and 
that  it  must  have  tugged  its  string  out  of  a  boy's 
hand,  and  soared  away.  After  that  they  laughed 
at  Peter  for  being  so  fond  of  the  kite,  he  loved  it 
so  much  that  he  even  slept  with  one  hand  on  it, 
and  I  think  this  was  pathetic  and  pretty,  for 
the  reason  he  loved  it  was  because  it  had  belonged 
to  a  real  boy. 

To  the  birds  this  was  a  very  poor  reason,  but 
the  older  ones  felt  grateful  to  him  at  this  time  be- 
cause he  had  nursed  a  number  of  fledglings  through 
the  German  measles,  and  they  offered  to  show  him 
how  birds  fly  a  kite.  So  six  of  them  took  the  end  of 
the  string  in  their  beaks  and  flew  away  with  it ;  and 
to  his  amazement  it  flew  after  them  and  went  even 
higher  than  they. 

Peter  screamed  out,  "Do  it  again!"  and  with 
171 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

great  good-nature  thej  did  it  several  times,  and 
always  instead  of  thanking  them  he  cried,  "Do  it 
again!"  which  shows  that  even  now  he  had  not 
quite  forgotten  what  it  was  to  be  a  boy. 

At  last,  with  a  grand  design  burning  within  his 
brave  heart,  he  begged  them  to  do  it  once  more  with 
him  clinging  to  the  tail,  and  now  a  hundred  flew 
off  with  the  string,  and  Peter  clung  to  the  tail, 
meaning  to  drop  off  when  he  was  over  the  Gardens. 
But  the  kite  broke  to  pieces  in  the  air,  and  he  would 
have  drowned  in  the  Serpentine  had  he  not  caught 
hold  of  two  indignant  swans  and  made  them  carry 
him  to  the  island.  After  this  the  birds  said  that  they 
would  help  him  no  more  in  his  mad  enterprise. 

Nevertheless,  Peter  did  reach  the  Gardens  at  last 
by  the  help  of  Shelley's  boat,  as  I  am  now  to  tell 
you. 


17« 


XV 

THE     thrush's    nest 

Shelley  was  a  young  gentleman  and  as 
grown-up  as  he  need  ever  expect  to  be.  He  was  a 
poet;  and  they  are  never  exactly  grown-up.  They 
are  people  who  despise  money  except  what  you  need 
for  to-day,  and  he  had  all  that  and  five  pounds 
over.  So,  when  he  was  walking  in  the  Kensington 
Gardens,  he  made  a  paper  boat  of  his  bank-note, 
and  sent  it  sailing  on  the  Serpentine. 

It  reached  the  island  at  night :  and  the  look-out 
brought  it  to  Solomon  Caw,  who  thought  at  first 
that  it  was  the  usual  thing,  a  message  from  a  lady, 
saying  she  would  be  obliged  if  he  could  let  her 
have  a  good  one.  They  always  ask  for  the  best  one 
he  has,  and  if  he  likes  the  letter  he  sends  one  from 
Class  A ;  but  if  it  ruffles  him  he  sends  very  funny 
ones  indeed.  Sometimes  he  sends  none  at  all,  and 
at  another  time  he  sends  a  nestful;  it  all  depends 
on  the  mood  you  catch  him  in.  He  likes  you  to 
173 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

leave  it  all  to  him,  and  if  you  mention  particularly 
that  you  hope  he  will  see  his  way  to  making  it  a 
hoy  this  time,  he  is  almost  sure  to  send  another  girl. 
And  whether  you  are  a  lady  or  only  a  little  boy 
who  wants  a  baby-sister,  always  take  pains  to  write 
your  address  clearly.  You  can't  think  what  a  lot 
of  babies  Solomon  has  sent  to  the  wrong  house. 

Shelley's  boat,  when  opened,  completely  puzzled 
Solomon,  and  he  took  counsel  of  his  assistants,  who 
having  walked  over  it  twice,  first  with  their  toes 
pointed  out,  and  then  with  their  toes  pointed  in, 
decided  that  it  came  from  some  greedy  person  who 
wanted  five.  They  thought  this  because  there  was 
a  large  five  printed  on  it.  "Preposterous!"  cried 
Solomon  in  a  rage,  and  he  presented  it  to  Peter; 
anything  useless  which  drifted  upon  the  island  was 
usually  given  to  Peter  as  a  play-thing. 

But  he  did  not  play  with  his  precious  bank-note, 
for  he  knew  what  it  was  at  once,  having  been  very 
observant  during  the  week  when  he  was  an  ordi- 
nary boy.  With  so  much  money,  he  reflected,  he 
could  surely  at  last  contrive  to  reach  the  Gardens, 
and  he  considered  all  the  possible  waysj  and  de- 
174 


THE    THRUSH'S    NEST 

cided  (wisely,  I  think)  to  choose  the  best  way. 
But,  first,  he  had  to  tell  the  birds  of  the  value  of 
Shelley's  boat;  and  though  they  were  too  honest 
to  demand  it  back,  he  saw  that  they  were  galled, 
and  they  cast  such  black  looks  at  Solomon,  whf' 
was  rather  vain  of  his  cleverness,  that  he  flew  away 
to  the  end  of  the  island,  and  sat  there  very  de- 
pressed with  his  head  buried  in  his  wings.  Now 
Peter  knew  that  unless  Solomon  was  on  your  side, 
you  never  got  anything  done  for  you  in  the  island, 
so  he  followed  him  and  tried  to  hearten  him. 

Nor  was  this  all  that  Peter  did  to  gain  the 
powerful  old  fellow's  good  will.  You  must  know 
that  Solomon  had  no  intention  of  remaining  in 
office  all  his  life.  He  looked  forward  to  retiring  by- 
and-by,  and  devoting  his  green  old  age  to  a  life 
of  pleasure  on  a  certain  yew-stump  in  the  Figs 
which  had  taken  his  fancy,  and  for  years  he  had 
been  quietly  filling  his  stocking.  It  was  a  stocking 
belonging  to  some  bathing  person  which  had  been 
cast  upon  the  island,  and  at  the  time  I  speak  of 
it  contained  a  hundred  and  eighty  crumbs,  thirty- 
four  nuts,  sixteen  crusts,  a  pen- wiper  and  a  boot- 
175 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

lace.  When  his  stocking  was  full,  Solomon  calcu- 
lated that  he  would  be  able  to  retire  on  a  com- 
petency. Peter  now  gave  him  a  pound.  He  cut  it 
off  his  bank-note  with  a  sharp  stick. 

This  made  Solomon  his  friend  for  ever,  and  after 
the  two  had  consulted  together  they  called  a  meet- 
ing of  the  thrushes.  You  will  see  presently  why 
thrushes  only  were  invited. 

The  scheme  to  be  put  before  them  was  really 
Peter's,  but  Solomon  did  most  of  the  talking,  be- 
cause he  soon  became  irritable  if  other  people 
talked.  He  began  by  saying  that  he  had  been  much 
impressed  by  the  superior  ingenuity  shown  by  the 
thrushes  in  nest-building,  and  this  put  them  into 
good-humour  at  once,  as  it  was  meant  to  do;  for 
all  the  quarrels  between  birds  are  about  the  best 
way  of  building  nests.  Other  birds,  said  Solomon, 
omitted  to  line  their  nests  with  mud,  and  as  a  result 
they  did  not  hold  water.  Here  he  cocked  his  head 
as  if  he  had  used  an  unanswerable  argument ;  bul', 
unfortunately,  a  Mrs.  Finch  had  come  to  the  meet- 
ing uninvited,  and  she  squeaked  out,  "We  don't 
build  nests  to  hold  water,  but  to  hold  eggs,"  and 
176 


THE    THRUSH'S    NEST 

then  the  thrushes  stopped  cheering,  and  Solomon 
was  so  perplexed  that  he  took  several  sips  of  water. 

"Consider,"  he  said  at  last,  "how  warm  the  mud 
makes  the  nest." 

"Consider,"  cried  Mrs.  Finch,  "that  when  water 
gets  into  the  nest  it  remains  there  and  your  little 
ones  are  drowned." 

The  thrushes  begged  Solomon  with  a  look  to  say 
something  crushing  in  reply  to  this,  but  again  he 
was  perplexed. 

"Try  another  drink,"  suggested  Mrs.  Finch 
pertly.  Kate  was  her  name,  and  all  Kates  are  saucy. 

Solomon  did  try  another  drink,  and  it  inspired 
him.  "If,"  said  he,  "a  finch's  nest  is  placed  on  the 
Serpentine  it  fills  and  breaks  to  pieces,  but  a 
thrush's  nest  is  still  as  dry  as  the  cup  of  a  swan's 
back." 

How  the  thrushes  applauded !  Now  they  knew 
why  they  lined  their  nests  with  mud,  and  when  Mrs. 
Finch  called  out,  "We  don't  place  our  nests  on  the 
Serpentine,"  they  did  what  they  should  have  done 
at  first:  chased  her  from  the  meeting.  After  this 
it  wsis  most  orderly.  What  they  had  been  brought 
177 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

together  to  hear,  said  Solomon,  was  this:  their 
young  friend,  Peter  Pan,  as  they  well  knew,  wanted 
very  much  to  be  able  to  cross  to  the  Gardens,  and 
he  now  proposed,  with  their  help,  to  build  a  boat. 

At  this  the  thrushes  began  to  fidget,  which  made 
Peter  tremble  for  his  scheme. 

Solomon  explained  hastily  that  what  he  meant 
was  not  one  of  the  cumbrous  boats  that  humans 
use;  the  proposed  boat  was  to  be  simply  a  thrush's 
nest  large  enough  to  hold  Peter. 

But  still,  to  Peter's  agony,  the  thrushes  were 
sulky.  "We  are  very  busy  people,"  they  grumbled, 
*'and  this  would  be  a  big  job." 

"Quite  so,"  said  Solomon,  "and,  of  course,  Peter 
would  not  allow  you  to  work  for  nothing.  You 
must  remember  that  he  is  now  in  comfortable  cir- 
cumstances, and  he  will  pay  you  such  wages  as 
you  have  never  been  paid  before.  Peter  Pan 
authorises  me  to  say  that  you  shall  all  be  paid 
sixpence  a  day." 

Then  all  the  thrushes  hopped  for  joy,  and  that 
very  day  was  begun  the  celebrated  Building  of  the 
Boat.  All  their  ordinary  business  fell  into  arrears. 
178 


THE    THRUSH'S    NEST 

It  was  the  time  of  year  when  they  should  have 
been  pairing,  but  not  a  thrush's  nest  was  built  ex- 
cept this  big  one,  and  so  Solomon  soon  ran  short 
of  thrushes  with  which  to  supply  the  demand  from 
the  mainland.  The  stout,  rather  greedy  children, 
who  look  so  well  in  perambulators  but  get  puffed 
easily  when  they  walk,  were  all  young  thrushes 
once,  and  ladies  often  ask  specially  for  them.  What 
do  you  think  Solomon  did.'^  He  sent  over  to  the 
house-tops  for  a  lot  of  sparrows  and  ordered  them 
to  lay  their  eggs  in  old  thrushes'  nests  and  sent 
their  young  to  the  ladies  and  swore  they  were  all 
thrushes !  It  was  known  afterward  on  the  island  as 
the  Sparrows'  Year,  and  so,  when  you  meet,  as  you 
doubtless  sometimes  do,  grown-up  people  whc  puff 
and  blow  as  if  they  thought  themselves  bigger  than 
they  are,  very  likely  they  belong  to  that  year.  You 
ask  them. 

Peter  was  a  just  master,  and  paid  his  work- 
people every  evening.  They  stood  in  rows  on  the 
branches,  waiting  politely  while  he  cut  the  paper 
sixpences  out  of  his  bank-note,  and  presently  he 
called  the  roll,  and  then  each  bird,  as  the  names 
179 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRBi 

were  mentioned,  flew  down  and  got  sixpence.  It 
must  have  been  a  fine  siglit„ 

And  at  last,  after  months  of  labor,  the  boat  was 
finished.  Oh,  the  deportment  of  Peter  as  he  saw  it 
growing  more  and  more  like  a  great  thrush's  nest! 
From  the  very  beginning  of  the  building  of  it  he 
slept  by  its  side,  and  often  woke  up  to  say  sweet 
things  to  it,  and  after  it  was  lined  with  mud  and 
the  mud  had  dried  he  always  slept  in  it.  He  sleeps 
in  his  nest  still,  and  has  a  fascinating  way  of  curl- 
ing round  in  it,  for  it  is  just  large  enough  to  hold 
him  comfortably  when  he  curls  round  like  a  kitten. 
It  is  brown  inside,  of  course,  but  outside  it  is 
mostly  green,  being  woven  of  grass  and  twigs,  and 
when  these  wither  or  snap  the  walls  are  thatched 
afresh.  There  are  also  a  few  feathers  here  and 
there,  which  came  off  the  thrushes  while  they  were 
building. 

The  other  birds  were  extremely  jealous  and  said 
that  the  boat  would  not  balance  on  the  water,  but 
it  lay  most  beautifully  steady ;  they  said  the  water 
would  come  into  it,  but  no  water  came  into  it.  Next 
they  said  that  Peter  had  no  oars,  and  this  caused 
ISO 


THE    THRUSH'S    NEST 

the  thrushes  to  look  at  each  other  in  dismay,  but 
Peter  replied  that  he  had  no  need  of  oars,  for  he 
had  a  sail,  and  with  such  a  proud,  happy  face  he 
produced  a  sail  which  he  had  fashioned  out  of  his 
night-gown,  and  though  it  was  still  rather  like  a 
night-gown  it  made  a  lovely  sail.  And  that  night, 
the  moon  being  full,  and  all  the  birds  asleep,  he 
did  enter  his  coracle  (as  Master  Francis  Pretty 
would  have  said)  and  depart  out  of  the  island. 
And  first,  he  knew  not  why,  he  looked  upward,  with 
his  hands  clasped,  and  from  that  moment  his  eyes 
were  pinned  to  the  west. 

He  had  promised  the  thrushes  to  begin  by  mak- 
ing short  voyages,  with  them  to  his  guides,  but 
far  away  he  saw  the  Kensington  Gardens  beckon- 
ing to  him  beneath  the  bridge,  and  he  could  not 
wait.  His  face  was  flushed,  but  he  never  looked 
back;  there  was  an  exultation  in  his  little  breast 
that  drove  out  fear.  Was  Peter  the  least  gallant 
of  the  English  mariners  who  have  sailed  westward 
to  meet  the  Unknown.^ 

At  first,  his  boat  turned  round  and  round,  and 
he  was  driven  back  to  the  place  of  his  starting, 
181 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

whereupon  he  shortened  sail,  bj  removing  one  of 
the  sleeves,  and  was  forthwith  carried  backward  by 
a  contrary  breeze,  to  his  no  small  peril.  He  now 
let  go  the  sail,  with  the  result  that  he  was  drifted 
toward  the  far  shore,  where  are  black  shadows  he 
knew  not  the  dangers  of,  but  suspected  them,  and 
so  once  more  hoisted  his  night-gown  and  went 
roomer  of  the  shadows  until  he  caught  a  favouring 
wind,  which  bore  him  westward,  but  at  so  great 
a  speed  that  he  was  like  to  be  broke  against  the 
bridge.  Which,  having  avoided,  he  passed  under 
the  bridge  and  came,  to  his  great  rejoicing,  within 
full  sight  of  the  delectable  Gardens.  But  having 
tried  to  cast  anchor,  which  was  a  stone  at  the  end 
of  a  piece  of  the  kite-string,  he  found  no  bottom, 
and  was  fain  to  hold  off,  seeking  for  moorage,  and, 
feeling  his  way,  he  buffeted  against  a  sunken  reef 
that  cast  him  overboard  by  the  greatness  of  the 
shock,  and  he  was  near  to  being  drowned,  but  clam- 
bered back  into  the  vessel.  There  now  arose  a 
inighty  storm,  accompanied  by  roaring  of  waters, 
such  as  he  had  never  heard  the  like,  and  he  was 
tossed  this  way  and  that,  and  his  hands  so  numbed 
182 


THE    THRUSH'S    NEST 

with  the  cold  that  he  could  not  close  them.  Having 
escaped  the  danger  of  which,  he  was  mercifully 
carried  into  a  small  bay,  where  his  boat  rode  at 
peace. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  not  yet  in  safety;  for,  on 
pretending  to  disembark,  he  found  a  multitude  of 
small  people  drawn  up  on  the  shore  to  contest  his 
landing,  and  shouting  shrilly  to  him  to  be  off,  for 
it  was  long  past  Lock-out  Time.  This,  with  much 
brandishing  of  their  holly-leaves,  and  also  a  com- 
pany of  them  carried  an  arrow  which  some  boy 
had  left  in  the  Gardens,  and  this  they  were  pre- 
pared to  use  as  a  battering-ram. 

Then  Peter,  who  knew  them  for  the  fairies, 
called  out  that  he  was  not  an  ordinary  human  and 
had  no  desire  to  do  them  displeasure,  but  to  be 
their  friend;  nevertheless,  having  found  a  jolly 
harbour,  he  was  in  no  temper  to  draw  off  there- 
from, and  he  warned  them  if  they  sought  to  mis- 
chief him  to  stand  to  their  harms. 

So  saying,  he  boldly  leapt  ashore,  and  they 
gathered  around  him  with  intent  to  slay  him,  but 
there  then  arose  a  great  cry  among  the  women, 
IBS 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

and  it  was  because  they  had  now  observed  that  his 
sail  was  a  baby's  night-gown.  Whereupon,  they 
straightway  loved  liim,  and  grieved  that  their  laps 
were  too  small,  the  which  I  cannot  explain,  except 
by  saying  that  such  is  the  way  of  women.  The 
men-fairies  now  sheathed  their  weapons  on  observ- 
ing the  behaviour  of  their  women,  on  whose  intelli- 
gence they  set  great  store,  and  they  led  him  civilly 
to  their  queen,  who  conferred  upon  him  the  cour- 
tesy of  the  Gardens  after  Lock-out  Time,  and 
henceforth  Peter  could  go  whither  he  chose,  and 
the  fairies  had  orders  to  put  him  in  comfort. 

Such  was  his  first  voyage  to  the  Gardens,  and 
you  may  gather  from  the  antiquity  of  the  lan- 
guage that  it  took  place  a  long  time  ago.  But  Peter 
never  grows  any  older,  and  if  we  could  be  watch- 
ing for  him  under  the  bridge  to-night  (but,  of 
course,  we  can't),  I  daresay  we  should  see  him 
hoisting  his  night-gown  and  sailing  or  paddling 
toward  us  in  the  Thrush's  Nest.  When  he  sails,  he 
sits  down,  but  he  stands  up  to  paddle.  I  shall  tell 
you  presently  how  he  got  liis  paddle. 

Long  before  the  time  for  the  opening  of  the 
1S4 


THE    THRUSH'S    NEST 

gates  comes  he  steals  back  to  the  island,  for  people 
must  not  see  him  (he  is  not  so  human  as  all  that), 
but  this  gives  him  hours  for  play,  and  he  plays 
exactly  as  real  children  play.  At  least  he  thinks 
so,  and  it  is  one  of  the  pathetic  things  about  him 
that  he  often  plays  quite  wrongly. 

You  see,  he  had  no  one  to  tell  him  how  children 
really  play,  for  the  fairies  were  all  more  or  less 
in  hiding  until  dusk,  and  so  know  nothing,  and 
though  the  birds  pretended  that  they  could  tell  him 
a  great  deal,  when  the  time  for  telling  came,  it  was 
wonderful  how  little  they  really  knew.  They  told 
him  the  truth  about  hide-and-seek,  and  he  often 
plays  it  by  himself,  but  even  the  ducks  on  the 
Round  Pond  could  not  explain  to  him  what  it  is 
that  makes  the  pond  so  fascinating  to  boys.  Every 
night  the  ducks  have  forgotten  all  the  events  of 
the  day,  except  the  number  of  pieces  of  cake 
thrown  to  them.  They  are  gloomy  creatures,  and 
say  that  cake  is  not  what  it  was  in  their  young 
days. 

So  Peter  had  to  find  out  many  things  for  him- 
self. He  often  played  ships  at  the  Round  Pond,  but 
185 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

his  ship  was  only  a  hoop  which  he  had  found  on 
the  grass.  Of  course,  he  had  never  seen  a  hoop,  and 
he  wondered  what  you  play  at  with  them,  and  de- 
cided that  you  play  at  pretending  they  are  boats. 
This  hoop  always  sank  at  once,  but  he  waded  in 
for  it,  and  sometimes  he  dragged  it  gleefully 
round  the  rim  of  the  pond,  and  he  was  quite  proud 
to  think  that  he  had  discovered  what  boys  do  with 
hoops. 

Another  time,  when  he  found  a  child's  pail,  he 
thought  it  was  for  sitting  in,  and  he  sat  so  hard 
in  it  that  he  could  scarcely  get  out  of  it.  Also  he 
found  a  balloon.  It  was  bobbing  about  on  the 
Hump,  quite  as  if  it  was  having  a  game  by  itself, 
and  he  caught  it  after  an  exciting  chase.  But  he 
thought  it  was  a  ball,  and  Jenny  Wren  had  told 
him  that  boys  kick  balls,  so  he  kicked  it ;  and  after 
that  he  could  not  find  it  anywhere. 

Perhaps  the  most  surprising  thing  he  found  was 
a  perambulator.  It  was  under  a  lime-tree,  near  the 
entrance  to  the  Fairy  Queen's  Winter  Palace 
(which  is  within  the  circle  of  the  seven  Spanish 
chestnuts),  and  Peter  approached  it  warily,  for 
186 


THE    THRUSH'S    NEST 

the  birds  had  never  mentioned  such  things  to  him. 
Lest  it  was  alive,  he  addressed  it  politely,  and  then, 
as  it  gave  no  answer,  he  went  nearer  and  felt  it 
cautiously.  He  gave  it  a  little  push,  and  it  ran 
from  him,  which  made  him  think  it  must  be  alive 
after  all;  but,  as  it  had  run  from  him,  he  was  not 
afraid.  So  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to  pull  it  to 
him,  but  this  time  it  ran  at  him,  and  he  was  so 
alarmed  that  he  leapt  the  railing  and  scudded  away 
to  his  boat.  You  must  not  think,  however,  that  he 
was  a  coward,  for  he  came  back  next  night  with 
a  crust  in  one  hand  and  a  stick  in  the  other,  but 
the  perambulator  had  gone,  and  he  never  saw  an- 
other one.  I  have  promised  to  tell  you  also  about 
his  paddle.  It  was  a  child's  spade  which  he  had 
found  near  St.  Govor's  Well,  and  he  thought  it 
was  a  paddle. 

Do  you  pity  Peter  Pan  for  making  these  mis- 
takes.'' If  so,  I  think  it  rather  silly  of  you.  What 
I  mean  is  that,  of  course,  one  must  pity  him  now 
and  then,  but  to  pity  him  all  the  time  would  be 
impertinence.  He  thought  he  had  the  most  splendid 
time  in  the  Gardens,  and  to  think  you  have  it  Is 
187 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

almost  quite  as  good  as  really  to  have  It.  He  played 
without  ceasing,  while  you  often  waste  time  by 
being  mad-dog  or  Mary-Annish.  He  could  be  nei- 
ther of  these  things,  for  he  had  never  heard  of 
them,  but  do  you  think  he  is  to  be  pitied  for  that? 

Oh,  he  was  merry.  He  was  as  much  merrier  than 
you,  for  instance,  as  you  are  merrier  than  your 
father.  Sometimes  he  fell,  like  a  spinning-top,  from 
sheer  merriment.  Have  you  seen  a  greyhound  leap- 
ing the  fences  of  the  Gardens.?  That  is  how  Peter 
leaps  them. 

And  think  of  the  music  of  his  pipe.  Gentlemen 
who  walk  home  at  night  write  to  the  papers  to 
say  they  heard  a  nightingale  in  the  Gardens,  but 
it  is  really  Peter's  pipe  they  hear.  Of  course,  he 
had  no  mother — at  least,  what  use  was  she  to  him? 
You  can  be  sorry  for  him  for  that,  but  don't  be 
too  sorry,  for  the  next  thing  I  mean  to  tell  you  is 
how  he  revisited  her.  It  was  the  fairies  who  gave 
him  the  chance. 


198 


I 


XVI 

LOCS-OUT    TIME 

J.T  is  frightfully  difficult  to  know  much  about  the 
fairies,  and  almost  the  only  thing  known  for  cer- 
tain is  that  there  are  fairies  wherever  there  are 
children.  Long  ago  children  were  forbidden  the 
Gardens,  and  at  that  time  there  was  not  a  fairy 
in  the  place;  then  the  children  were  admitted,  and 
the  fairies  came  trooping  in  that  very  evening. 
They  can't  resist  following  the  children,  but  you 
seldom  see  them,  partly  because  they  live  in  the 
daytime  behind  the  railings,  where  you  are  not  al- 
lowed to  go,  and  also  partly  because  they  are  so 
cunning.  They  are  not  a  bit  cunning  after  Lock- 
out, but  until  Lock-out,  my  word! 

When  you  were  a  bird  you  knew  the  fairies 
pretty  well,  and  you  remember  a  good  deal  about 
them  in  your  babyhood,  which  it  is  a  great  pity 
you  can't  write  down,  for  gradually  you  forget, 
and  I  have  heard  of  children  who  declared  that 
189 


THE  LITTLE  WHITE  BIRD 
they  had  never  once  seen  £t  fairy.  Very  likely  if 
they  said  this  in  the  Kensington  Gardens,  they 
were  standing  looking  at  a  fairy  all  the  time.  The 
reason  they  were  cheated  was  that  she  pretended 
to  be  something  else.  This  is  one  of  their  best  tricks. 
They  usually  pretend  to  be  flowers,  because  the 
court  sits  in  the  Fairies'  Basin,  and  there  are  so 
many  flowers  there,  and  all  along  the  Baby  Walk, 
that  a  flower  is  the  thing  least  likely  to  attract 
attention.  They  dress  exactly  like  flowers,  and 
change  with  the  seasons,  putting  on  white  when 
lilies  are  in  and  blue  for  blue-bells,  and  so  on.  They 
like  crocus  and  hyacinth  time  best  of  all,  as  they 
are  partial  to  a  bit  of  colour,  but  tulips  (except 
white  ones,  which  are  the  fairy-cradles)  they  con- 
sider garish,  and  they  sometimes  put  off  dressing 
like  tulips  for  days,  so  that  the  beginning  of  the 
tulip  weeks  is  almost  the  best  time  to  catch  them. 

When  they  think  you  are  not  looking  they  skip 
along  pretty  lively,  but  if  you  look  and  they  fear 
there  is  no  time  to  hide,  they  stand  quite  still,  pre- 
tending to  be  flowers.  Then,  after  you  have  passed 
irithout  knowing  that  they  were  fairies,  they  rush 
190 


LOCK-OUT    TIME 

home  and  tell  their  mothers  they  have  had  such  an 
adventure.  The  Fairy  Basin,  you  remember,  is  all 
covered  with  ground-ivy  (from  which  they  make 
their  castor-oil),  with  flowers  growing  in  it  here 
and  there.  Most  of  them  really  are  flowers,  but 
some  of  them  are  fairies.  You  never  can  be  sure 
of  them,  but  a  good  plan  is  to  walk  by  looking  the 
other  way,  and  then  turn  round  sharply.  Another 
good  plan,  which  David  and  I  sometimes  follow, 
is  to  stare  them  down.  After  a  long  time  they  can't 
help  winking,  and  then  you  know  for  certain  that 
they  are  fairies. 

There  are  also  numbers  of  them  along  the  Baby 
Walk,  which  is  a  famous  gentle  place,  as  spots 
frequented  by  fairies  are  called.  Once  twenty-four 
of  them  had  an  extraordinary  adventure.  They 
were  a  girls'  school  out  for  a  walk  with  the  gov- 
erness, and  all  wearing  hyacinth  gowns,  when  she 
suddenly  put  her  finger  to  her  mouth,  and  then 
they  all  stood  still  on  an  empty  bed  and  pretended 
to  be  hyacinths.  Unfortunately,  what  the  governess 
had  heard  «^as  two  gardeners  coming  to  plant  new 
flowers  in  that  very  bed.  They  were  wheeling  a 
191 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

handcart  with  the  flowers  in  it,  and  were  quite  sur- 
prised to  find  the  bed  occupied.  "  Pity  to  lift  them 
hyacintlis,"  said  the  one  man.  "  Duke's  orders,"  re- 
plied the  other,  and,  having  emptied  the  cart,  they 
dug  up  the  boarding-school  and  put  the  poor,  ter- 
rified things  in  it  in  five  rows.  Of  course,  neither 
the  governess  nor  the  girls  dare  let  on  that  they 
were  fairies,  so  they  were  carted  far  away  to  a 
potting-shed,  out  of  which  they  escaped  in  the 
night  without  their  shoes,  but  there  was  a  great 
row  about  it  among  the  parents,  and  the  school 
was  ruined. 

As  for  their  houses,  it  is  no  use  looking  for  them, 
because  they  are  the  exact  opposite  of  our  houses. 
You  can  see  our  houses  by  day  but  you  can't  see 
them  by  dark.  Well,  you  can  see  their  houses  by 
dark,  but  you  can't  see  them  by  day,  for  they  are 
the  colour  of  night,  and  I  never  heard  of  anyone 
yet  who  could  see  night  in  the  daytime.  This  does 
not  mean  that  they  are  black,  for  night  has  its 
colours  just  as  day  has,  but  ever  so  much  brighter. 
Their  blues  and  reds  and  greens  are  like  ours  with 
a  light  behind  them.  The  palace  is  entirely  built 
192 


LOCK-OUT    TIME 

of  many-coloured  glasses,  and  is  quite  the  loveliest 
of  all  royal  residences,  but  the  queen  sometimes 
complains  because  the  common  people  will  peep  in 
to  see  what  she  is  doing.  They  are  very  inquisitive 
folk,  and  press  quite  hard  against  the  glass,  and 
that  is  why  their  noses  are  mostly  snubby.  The 
streets  are  miles  long  and  very  twisty,  and  have 
paths  on  each  side  made  of  bright  worsted.  The 
birds  used  to  steal  the  worsted  for  their  nests,  but 
a  policeman  has  been  appointed  to  hold  on  at  the 
other  end. 

One  of  the  great  differences  between  the  fairies 
and  us  is  that  they  never  do  anything  useful.  When 
the  first  baby  laughed  for  the  first  time,  his  laugh 
broke  into  a  million  pieces,  and  they  all  went  skip- 
ping about.  That  was  the  beginning  of  fairies. 
They  look  tremendously  busy,  you  know,  as  if  they 
had  not  a  moment  to  spare,  but  if  you  were  to  ask 
them  what  they  are  doing,  they  could  not  tell  you 
in  the  least.  They  are  frightfully  ignorant,  and 
everything  they  do  is  make-believe.  They  have  a 
postman,  but  he  never  calls  except  at  Christmas 
with  his  little  box,  and  though  they  have  beautiful 
193 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

schools,  nothing  is  taught  in  them;  the  youngest 
child  being  chief  person  is  always  elected  mistress, 
and  when  she  has  called  the  roll,  they  all  go  out 
for  a  walk  and  never  come  back.  It  is  a  very  notice- 
able thing  that,  in  fairy  families,  the  youngest  is 
always  chief  person,  and  usually  becomes  a  prince 
or  princess ;  and  children  remember  this,  and  think 
it  must  be  so  among  humans  also,  and  that  is  why 
they  are  often  made  uneasy  when  they  come  upon 
their  mother  furtively  putting  new  frills  on  the 
basinette. 

You  have  probably  observed  that  your  baby- 
sister  wants  to  do  all  sorts  of  things  that  your 
mother  and  her  nurse  want  her  not  to  do:  to  stand 
up  at  sitting-down  time,  and  to  sit  down  at  stand- 
ing-up  time,  for  instance,  or  to  wake  up  when  she 
should  fall  asleep,  or  to  crawl  on  the  floor  when  she 
is  wearing  her  best  frock,  and  so  on,  and  perhaps 
you  put  this  down  to  naughtiness.  But  it  is  not; 
it  simply  means  that  she  is  doing  as  she  has  seen 
the  fairies  do ;  she  begins  by  following  their  ways, 
and  it  takes  about  two  years  to  get  her  into  the 
human  ways.  Her  fits  of  passion,  which  are  awful 
194 


LOCK-OUT    TIME 

to  behold,  and  are  usually  called  teething,  are  no 
such  thing;  they  are  her  natural  exasperation,  be- 
cause we  don't  understand  her,  though  she  is  talk- 
ing an  intelligible  language.  She  is  talking  fairy. 
The  reason  mothers  and  nurses  know  what  her  re- 
marks mean,  before  other  people  know,  as  that 
"Guch"  means  "Give  it  to  me  at  once,"  while  "Wa" 
is  "Why  do  you  wear  such  a  funny  hat?"  is  be- 
cause, mixing  so  much  with  babies,  they  have 
picked  up  a  little  of  the  fairy  language. 

Of  late  David  has  been  thinking  back  hard  about 
the  fairy  tongue,  with  his  hands  clutching  his  tem- 
ples, and  he  has  remembered  a  number  of  their 
phrases  which  I  shall  tell  you  some  day  if  I  don't 
forget.  He  had  heard  them  in  the  days  when  he 
was  a  thrush,  and  though  I  suggested  to  him  that 
perhaps  it  is  really  bird  language  he  is  remember- 
ing, he  says  not,  for  these  phrases  are  about  fun 
and  adventures,  and  the  birds  talked  of  nothing 
but  nest-building.  He  distinctly  remembers  that  the 
birds  used  to  go  from  spot  to  spot  like  ladies  at 
shop-windows,  looking  at  the  different  nests  and 
saying,  "Not  my  colour,  my  dear,"  and  "How 
195 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

would  that  do  with  a  soft  lining?"  and  "But  will 
it  wear?"  and  "What  hideous  trimming!"  and 
so  on. 

The  fairies  are  exquisite  dancers,  and  that  is  why 
one  of  the  first  things  the  baby  does  is  to  sign  to 
you  to  dance  to  him  and  then  to  cry  when  you  do 
it.  They  hold  their  great  balls  in  the  open  air,  in 
what  is  called  a  fairy-ring.  For  weeks  afterward 
you  can  see  the  ring  on  the  grass.  It  is  not  there 
when  they  begin,  but  they  make  it  by  waltzing 
round  and  round.  Sometimes  you  will  find  mush- 
rooms inside  the  ring,  and  these  are  fairy  chairs 
that  the  servants  have  forgotten  to  clear  away.  The 
chairs  and  the  rings  are  the  only  tell-tale  ma^' s 
these  little  people  leave  behind  them,  and  th.;y 
would  remove  even  these  were  they  not  so  fond 
of  dancing  that  they  toe  it  till  the  very  moment 
of  the  opening  of  the  gates.  David  and  I  once 
found  a  fairy-ring  quite  warm. 

But  there  is  also  a  way  of  finding  out  about  the 

ball  before  it  takes  place.  You  know  the  boards 

which  tell  at  what  time  the  Gardens  are  to  close 

to-day.  Well,  these  tricky  fairies  sometimes  slyly 

196 


LOCK-OUT    TIME 

change  the  board  on  a  ball  night,  so  that  it  says 
the  Gardens  are  to  close  at  six-thirty  for  instance, 
instead  of  at  seven.  This  enables  them  to  get  begun 
half  an  hour  earlier. 

If  on  such  a  night  we  could  remain  behind  in  the 
Gardens,  as  the  famous  Maimie  Mannering  did,  we 
might  see  delicious  sights,  hundreds  of  lovely  fai- 
ries hastening  to  the  ball,  the  married  ones  wearing 
their  wedding-rings  round  their  waists,  the  gentle- 
men, all  in  uniform,  holding  up  the  ladies'  trains, 
and  linkmen  running  in  front  carrying  winter 
cherries,  which  are  the  fairy-lanterns,  the  cloak- 
r'  om  where  they  put  on  their  silver  slippers  and 
J  t  a  ticket  for  their  wraps,  the  flowers  streaming 
up  from  the  Baby  Walk  to  look  on,  and  always 
welcome  because  they  can  lend  a  pin,  the  supper- 
table,  with  Queen  Mab  at  the  head  of  it,  and  be- 
hind her  chair  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  who  carries 
a  dandelion  on  which  he  blows  when  Her  Majesty 
wants  to  know  the  time. 

The  table-cloth  varies  according  to  the  seasons, 
and  in  May  it  is  made  of  chestnut-blossom.  The 
way  the  fairy-servants  do  is  this :  The  men,  scores 
197 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

of  them,  climb  up  the  trees  and  shake  the  branches, 
and  the  blossom  falls  like  snow.  Then  the  lady  ser- 
vants sweep  it  together  by  whisking  their  skirts 
until  it  is  exactly  like  a  table-cloth,  and  that  is  how 
they  get  their  table-cloth. 

They  have  real  glasses  and  real  wine  of  three 
kinds,  namely,  blackthorn  wine,  berberris  wine,  and 
cowslip  wine,  and  the  Queen  pours  out,  but  the 
bottles  are  so  heavy  that  she  just  pretends  to  pour 
out.  There  is  bread  and  butter  to  begin  with,  of  the 
size  of  a  threepenny  bit;  and  cakes  to  end  with, 
and  they  are  so  small  that  they  have  no  crumbs. 
The  fairies  sit  round  on  mushrooms,  and  at  first 
they  are  very  well-behaved  and  always  cough  off 
the  table,  and  so  on,  but  after  a  bit  they  are  not 
so  well-behaved  and  stick  their  fingers  intO'  the  but- 
ter, which  is  got  from  the  roots  of  old  trees,  and 
the  really  horrid  ones  crawl  over  the  table-cloth 
chasing  sugar  or  other  delicacies  with  their 
tongues.  When  the  Queen  sees  them  doing  this  she 
signs  to  the  servants  to  wash  up  and  put  away, 
and  then  everybody  adjourns  to  the  dance,  the 
Queen  walking  in  front  while  the  Lord  Chamber- 
19s 


LOCK-OUT    TIME 

lam  walks  behind  her,  carrying  two  Httle  pots,  one 
of  which  contains  the  juice  of  wall-flower  and  the 
other  the  juice  of  Solomon's  Seals.  Wall-flower 
juice  is  good  for  reviving  dancers  who  fall  to  the 
ground  in  a  fit,  and  Solomon's  Seals  juice  is  for 
bruises.  They  bruise  very  easily  and  when  Peter 
plays  faster  and  faster  they  foot  it  till  they  fall 
down  in  fits.  For,  as  you  know  without  my  telling 
you,  Peter  Pan  is  the  fairies'  orchestra.  He  sits 
in  the  middle  of  the  ring,  and  they  would  never 
dream  of  having  a  smart  dance  nowadays 
without  him.  "P.  P."  is  written  on  the  corner 
of  the  invitation-cards  sent  out  by  all  really 
good  families.  They  are  grateful  little  people,  too, 
and  at  the  princess's  coming-of-age  ball  (they 
come  of  age  on  their  second  birthday  and  have 
a  birthday  every  month)  they  gave  him  the  wish 
of  his  heart. 

The  way  it  was  done  was  this.  The  Queen  ordered 
him  to  kneel,  and  then  said  that  for  playing  so 
beautifully  she  would  give  him  the  wish  of  his 
heart.  Then  they  all  gathered  round  Peter  to  hear 
what  was  the  wish  of  his  heart,  but  for  a  long  time 
199 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

he  hesitated,  not  being  certain  what  it  was 
himself. 

"If  I  chose  to  go  back  to  mother,"  he  asked  at 
last,  "could  you  give  me  that  wish?" 

Now  this  question  vexed  them,  for  were  he  to 
return  to  his  mother  they  should  lose  his  music, 
so  the  Queen  tilted  her  nose  contemptuously  and 
said,  "Pooh,  ask  for  a  much  bigger  wish  than 
that." 

"Is  that  quite  a  little  wish.?"  he  inquired. 

"As  little  as  this,"  the  Queen  answered,  putting 
her  hands  near  each  other. 

"What  size  is  a  big  wish.^^"  he  asked. 

She  measured  it  off  on  her  skirt  and  it  was  a 
very  handsome  length. 

Then  Peter  reflected  and  said,  "Well,  then,  I 
think  I  shall  have  two  little  wishes  instead  of  one 
big  one." 

Of  course,  the  fairies  had  to  agree,  though  his 
cleverness  rather  shocked  them,  and  he  said  that  his 
first  wish  was  to  go  to  his  mother,  but  with  the  right 
to  return  to  the  Gardens  if  he  found  her  disap- 
pointing. His  second  wish  he  would  hold  in  reserve. 
200 


LOCK-OUT    TIME 

They  tried  to  dissuade  him,  and  even  put  ob- 
stacles in  the  way. 

"I  can  give  you  the  power  to  fly  to  her  house," 
the  Queen  said,  "but  I  can't  open  the  door  for 
you." 

"The  window  I  flew  out  at  will  be  open,"  Peter 
said  confidently.  "Mother  always  keeps  it  open  in 
the  hope  that  I  may  fly  back." 

"How  do  you  know.?"  they  asked,  quite  sur- 
prised, and,  really,  Peter  could  not  explain  how 
he  knew. 

"I  just  do  know,"  he  said. 

So  as  he  persisted  in  his  wish,  they  had  to  grant 
it.  The  way  they  gave  him  power  to  fly  was  this: 
They  all  tickled  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  soon  he 
felt  a  funny  itching  in  that  part  and  then  up  he 
rose  higher  and  higher  and  flew  away  out  of  the 
Gardens  and  over  the  house-tops. 

It  was  so  delicious  that  instead  of  flying  straight 
to  his  old  home  he  skimmed  away  over  St.  Paul's 
to  the  Crystal  Palace  and  back  by  the  river  and 
Regent's  Park,  and  by  the  time  he  reached  his 
mother's  window  he  had  quite  made  up  his  mind 
201 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

that  his  second  wish  should  be  to  become  a 
bird. 

The  window  was  wide  open,  just  as  he  knew  it 
would  be,  and  in  he  fluttered,  and  there  was  his 
mother  lying  asleep.  Peter  alighted  softly  on  the 
wooden  rail  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  had  a  good 
look  at  her.  She  lay  with  her  head  on  her  hand, 
and  the  hollow  in  the  pillow  was  like  a  nest  lined 
with  her  brown  wavy  hair.  He  remembered,  though 
he  had  long  forgotten  it,  that  she  always  gave  her 
hair  a  holiday  at  night.  How  sweet  the  frills  of  her 
night-gown  were.  He  was  very  glad  she  was  such 
a  pretty  mother. 

But  she  looked  sad,  and  he  knew  why  she  looked 
sad.  One  of  her  arms  moved  as  if  it  wanted  to  go 
round  something,  and  he  knew  what  it  wanted  to 
go  round. 

"Oh,  mother,"  said  Peter  to  himself,  "if  you 
just  knew  who  is  sitting  on  the  rail  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed." 

Very  gently  he  patted  the  little  mound  that  her 
feet  made,  and  he  could  see  by  her  face  that  she 
liked  it.  He  knew  he  had  but  to  say  "Mother"  ever 
202 


LOCK-OUT    TIME 

so  softly,  and  she  would  wake  up.  They  always 
wake  up  at  once  if  it  is  you  that  says  their  name. 
Then  she  would  give  such  a  joyous  cry  and  squeeze 
him  tight.  How  nice  that  would  be  to  him,  but  oh, 
how  exquisitely  delicious  it  would  be  to  her.  That 
I  am  afraid  is  how  Peter  regarded  it.  In  returning 
to  his  mother  he  never  doubted  that  he  was  giving 
her  the  greatest  treat  a  woman  can  have.  Nothing 
can  be  more  splendid,  he  thought,  than  to  have 
a  little  boy  of  your  own.  How  proud  of  him  they 
are ;  and  very  right  and  proper,  too. 

But  why  does  Peter  sit  so  long  on  the  rail,  why 
does  he  not  tell  his  mother  that  he  has  come  back  ? 

I  quite  shrink  from  the  truth,  which  is  that  he 
sat  there  in  two  minds.  Sometimes  he  looked  long- 
ingly at  his  mother,  and  sometimes  he  looked  long- 
ingly at  the  window.  Certainly  it  would  be  pleas- 
ant to  be  her  boy  again,  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
what  times  those  had  been  in  the  Gardens !  Was  he 
so  sure  that  he  would  enjoy  wearing  clothes  again? 
He  popped  off  the  bed  and  opened  some  drawers 
to  have  a  look  at  his  old  garments.  They  were  still 
there,  but  he  could  not  remember  how  you  put  them 
203 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

on.  The  socks,  for  instance,  were  they  worn  on  the 
hands  or  on  the  feet?  He  was  about  to  try  one  of 
them  on  his  hand,  when  he  had  a  great  adventure. 
Perhaps  the  drawer  had  creaked;  at  any  rate,  his 
mother  woke  up,  for  he  heard  her  say  "Peter,"  as 
if  it  was  the  most  lovely  word  in  the  language. 
He  remained  sitting  on  the  floor  and  held  his 
breath,  wondering  how  she  knew  that  he  had  come 
back.  If  she  said  "Peter"  again,  he  meant  to  cry 
"Mother"  and  run  to  her.  But  she  spoke  no  more, 
she  made  little  moans  only,  and  when  next  he 
peeped  at  her  she  was  once  more  asleep,  with  tears 
on  her  face. 

It  made  Peter  very  miserable,  and  what  do  you 
think  was  the  first  thing  he  did?  Sitting  on  the  rail 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  he  played  a  beautiful  lullaby 
to  his  mother  on  his  pipe.  He  had  made  it  up  him- 
self out  of  the  way  she  said  "Peter,"  and  he  never 
stopped  playing  until  she  looked  happy. 

He  thought  this  so  clever  of  him  that  he  could 

scarcely  resist  wakening  her  to  hear  her  say,  "Oh, 

Peter,  how  exquisitely  you  play."  However,  as  she 

now  seemed  comfortable,  he  again  cast  looks  at  the 

204 


LOCK-OUT    TIME 

window.  You  must  not  think  that  he  meditated  fly- 
ing awaj  and  never  coming  back.  He  had  quite 
decided  to  be  his  mother's  boy,  but  hesitated  about 
beginning  to-night.  It  was  the  second  wish  which 
troubled  him.  He  no  longer  meant  to  make  it  a 
wish  to  be  a  bird,  but  not  to  ask  for  a  second  wish 
seemed  wasteful,  and,  of  course,  he  could  not  ask 
for  it  without  returning  to  the  fairies.  Also,  if  he 
put  off  asking  for  his  wish  too  long  it  might  go 
bad.  He  asked  himself  if  he  had  not  been  hard- 
hearted to  fly  away  without  saying  good-bye  to 
Solomon.  "I  should  like  awfully  to  sail  in  my  boat 
just  once  more,"  he  said  wistfully  to  his  sleeping 
mother.  He  quite  argued  with  her  as  if  she  could 
hear  him.  "It  would  be  so  splendid  to  tell  the  birds 
of  this  adventure,"  he  said  coaxingly.  "I  promise 
to  come  back,"  he  said  solemnly  and  meant  it, 
too. 

And  in  the  end,  you  know,  he  flew  away.  Twice 
he  came  back  from  the  window,  wanting  to  kiss  his 
mother,  but  he  feared  the  delight  of  it  might 
waken  her,  so  at  last  he  played  her  a  lovely  kiss 
on  his  pipe,  and  then  he  flew  back  to  the  Gardens. 
205 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

Many  nights  and  even  months  passed  before  he 
asked  the  fairies  for  his  second  wish ;  and  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  quite  know  why  he  delayed  so  long. 
One  reason  was  that  he  had  so  many  good-byes  to 
say,  not  only  to  his  particular  friends,  but  to  a 
hundred  favourite  spots.  Then  he  had  his  last  sail, 
and  his  very  last  sail,  and  his  last  sail  of  all,  and 
so  on.  Again,  a  number  of  farewell  feasts  were 
given  in  his  honour;  and  another  comfortable 
reason  was  that,  after  all,  there  was  no  hurry,  for 
his  mother  would  never  weary  of  waiting  for  him. 
This  last  reason  displeased  old  Solomon,  for  it  was 
an  encouragement  to  the  birds  to  procrastinate. 
Solomon  had  several  excellent  mottoes  for  keeping 
them  at  their  work,  such  as  "Never  put  off  laying 
to-day,  because  you  can  lay  to-morrow,"  and  "In 
this  world  there  are  no  second  chances,"  and  yet 
here  was  Peter  gaily  putting  off  and  none  the 
worse  for  it.  The  birds  pointed  this  out  to  each 
other,  and  fell  into  lazy  habits. 

But,  mind  you,  though  Peter  was  so  slow  in  go- 
ing back  to  his  mother,  he  was  quite  decided  to  go 
back.  The  best  proof  of  this  was  his  caution  with 
206 


LOCK-OUT    TIME 

the  fairies.  They  were  most  anxious  that  he  should 
remain  in  the  Gardens  to  play  to  them,  and  to 
bring  this  to  pass  they  tried  to  trick  him  into  mak- 
ing such  a  remark  as  "I  wish  the  grass  was  not  so 
wet,"  and  some  of  them  danced  out  of  time  in  the 
hope  that  he  might  cry,  "I  do  wish  you  would  keep 
time!"  Then  they  would  have  said  that  this  was 
his  second  wish.  But  he  smoked  their  design,  and 
though  on  occasions  he  began,  "I  wish — "  he  al- 
ways stopped  in  time.  So  when  at  last  he  said  to 
them  bravely,  "I  wish  now  to  go  back  to  mother 
for  ever  and  always,"  they  had  to  tickle  his  shoul- 
ders and  let  him  go. 

He  went  in  a  hurry  in  the  end  because  he  had 
dreamt  that  his  mother  was  crying,  and  he  knew 
what  was  the  great  thing  she  cried  for,  and  that 
a  hug  from  her  splendid  Peter  would  quickly  make 
her  to  smile.  Oh,  he  felt  sure  of  it,  and  so  eager 
was  he  to  be  nestling  in  her  arms  that  this  time  he 
flew  straight  to  the  window,  which  was  always  to 
be  open  for  him. 

But  the  window  was  closed,  and  there  were  iron 
bars  on  it,  and  peering  inside  he  saw  his  mother 
207 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

sleeping  peacefully  with  her  arm  round  another 
little  boy. 

Peter  called,  "Mother!  mother!"  but  she  heard 
him  not;  in  vain  he  beat  his  little  limbs  against 
the  iron  bars.  He  had  to  fly  back,  sobbing,  to  the 
Gardens,  and  he  never  saw  his  dear  again.  What 
a  glorious  boy  he  had  meant  to  be  to  her.  Ah, 
Peter,  we  who  have  made  the  great  mistake,  how 
differently  we  should  all  act  at  the  second  chance. 
But  Solomon  was  right;  there  is  no  second  chance, 
not  for  most  of  us.  When  we  reach  the  window  it 
is  Lock-out  Time.  The  iron  bars  are  up  for  life. 


^8 


XVII 

THE    LITTLE    HOUSE 

Everybody  has  heard  of  the  Little  House  in 
the  Kensington  Gardens,  which  is  the  only  house 
in  the  whole  world  that  the  fairies  have  built  for 
humans.  But  no  one  has  really  seen  it,  except  just 
three  or  four,  and  they  have  not  only  seen  it  but 
slept  m  it,  and  unless  you  sleep  in  it  you  never 
see  it.  This  is  because  it  is  not  there  when  you  lie 
down,  but  it  is  there  when  you  wake  up  and  step 
outside. 

In  a  kind  of  way  everyone  may  see  it,  but  what 
you  see  is  not  really  it,  but  only  the  light  in  the 
windows.  You  see  the  light  after  Lock-out  Time. 
David,  for  instance,  saw  it  quite  distinctly  far 
away  among  the  trees  as  we  were  going  home  from 
the  pantomime,  and  Oliver  Bailey  saw  it  the  night 
he  stayed  so  late  at  the  Temple,  which  is  the  name 
of  his  father's  office.  Angela  Clare,  who  loves  to 
have  a  tooth  extracted  because  then  she  is  treated 
to  tea  in  a  shop,  saw  more  than  one  light,  she  saw 
209 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

hundreds  of  them  all  together,  and  this  must  have 
been  the  fairies  building  the  house,  for  they  build 
it  every  night  and  always  in  a  different  part  of 
the  Gardens.  She  thought  one  of  the  lights  was 
bigger  than  the  others,  though  she  was  not  quite 
sure,  for  they  jumped  about  so,  and  it  might  have 
been  another  one  that  was  bigger.  But  if  it  was 
the  same  one,  it  was  Peter  Pan's  light.  Heaps  of 
children  have  seen  the  light,  so  that  is  nothing. 
But  Maimie  Mannering  was  the  famous  one  for 
whom  the  house  was  first  built. 

Maimie  was  always  rather  a  strange  girl,  and 
it  was  at  night  that  she  was  strange.  She  was  four 
years  of  age,  and  in  the  daytime  she  was  the  or- 
dinary kind.  She  was  pleased  when  her  brother 
Tony,  who  was  a  magnificent  fellow  of  six,  took 
notice  of  her,  and  she  looked  up  to  him  in  the 
right  way,  and  tried  in  vain  to  imitate  him  and  was 
flattered  rather  than  annoyed  when  he  shoved  her 
about.  Also,  when  she  was  batting  she  would  pause 
though  the  ball  was  in  the  air  to  point  out  to  you 
that  she  was  wearing  new  shoes.  She  was  quite  the 
ordinary  kind  in  the  daytime. 
210 


THE  LITTLE  HOUSE 
But  as  the  shades  of  night  fell,  Tony,  the  swag- 
gerer, lost  his  contempt  for  Maimie  and  eyed  her 
fearfully,  and  no  wonder,  for  with  dark  there 
came  into  her  face  a  look  that  I  can  describe  only 
as  a  leary  look.  It  was  also  a  serene  look  that  con- 
trasted grandly  with  Tony's  uneasy  glances.  Then 
he  would  make  her  presents  of  his  favourite  toys 
(which  he  always  took  away  from  her  next  morn- 
ing) and  she  accepted  them  with  a  disturbing  smile. 
The  reason  he  was  now  become  so  wheedling  and 
she  so  mysterious  was  (in  brief)  that  they  knew 
they  were  about  to  be  sent  to  bed.  It  was  then  that 
Maimie  was  terrible.  Tony  entreated  her  not  to  do 
it  to-night,  and  the  mother  and  their  coloured 
nurse  threatened  her,  but  Maimie  merely  smiled  her 
agitating  smile.  And  by-and-by  when  they  were 
alone  with  their  night-light  she  would  start  up  in 
bed  crying  "Hsh!  what  was  that?"  Tony  beseeches 
her!  "It  was  nothing — don't,  Maimie,  don't!"  and 
pulls  the  sheet  over  his  head.  "It  is  coming  nearer !" 
she  cries ;  "Oh,  look  at  it,  Tony !  It  is  feeling  your 
bed  with  its  horns — it  is  boring  for  you,  oh,  Tony, 
oh !"  and  she  desists  not  until  he  rushes  downstairs 
211 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

in  his  combinations,  screeching.  When  they  came 
up  to  whip  Maimie  they  usually  found  her  sleeping 
tranquilly,  not  shamming,  you  know,  but  really 
sleeping,  and  looking  like  the  sweetest  little  angel, 
which  seems  to  me  to  make  it  almost  worse. 

But  of  course  it  was  daytime  when  they  were  in 
the  Gardens,  and  then  Tony  did  most  of  the  talk- 
ing. You  could  gather  from  his  talk  that  he  was 
a  very  brave  boy,  and  no  one  was  so  proud  of  it 
as  Maimie.  She  would  have  loved  to  have  a  ticket 
on  her  saying  that  she  was  his  sister.  And  at  no 
time  did  she  admire  him  more  than  when  he  told 
her,  as  he  often  did  with  splendid  firmness,  that 
one  day  he  meant  to  remain  behind  in  the  Gardens 
after  the  gates  were  closed. 

"Oh,  Tony,"  she  would  say,  with  awful  respect, 
"but  the  fairies  will  be  so  angry !" 

"I  daresay,"  replied  Tony,  carelessly. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  thrilling,  "Peter  Pan  will 
give  you  a  sail  in  his  boat!" 

"I  shall  make  him,"  replied  Tony ;  no  wonder  she 
was  proud  of  him. 

'     But  they  should  not  have  talked  so  loudly,  for 
212 


THE    LITTLE    HOUSE 

one  day  they  were  overheard  by  a  fairy  who  had 
been  gathering  skeleton  leaves,  from  which  the  little 
people  weave  their  summer  curtains,  and  after  that 
Tony  was  a  marked  boy.  They  loosened  the  rails 
before  he  sat  on  them,  so  that  down  he  came  on  the 
back  of  his  head ;  they  tripped  him  up  by  catching 
his  boot-lace  and  bribed  the  ducks  to  sink  his  boat. 
Nearly  all  the  nasty  accidents  you  meet  with  in 
the  Gardens  occur  because  the  fairies  have  taken 
an  ill-will  to  you,  and  so  it  behoves  you  to  be  care- 
ful what  you  say  about  them. 

Maimie  was  one  of  the  kind  who  like  to  fix  a  day 
for  doing  things,  but  Tony  was  not  that  kind,  and 
when  she  asked  him  which  day  he  was  to  remain 
behind  in  the  Gardens  after  Lock-out  he  merely 
replied,  "Just  some  day ;"  he  was  quite  vague  about 
which  day  except  when  she  asked  "Will  it  be  to- 
day.?" and  then  he  could  always  say  for  certain 
that  it  would  not  be  to-day.  So  she  saw  that  he 
was  waiting  for  a  real  good  chance. 

This  brings  us  to  an  afternoon  when  the  Gardens 
were  white  with  snow,  and  there  was  ice  on  the 
Round  Pond,  not  thick  enough  to  skate  on  but  at 
213 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

least  you  could  spoil  it  for  to-morrow  by  flinging 
stones,  and  many  bright  little  boys  and  girls  were 
doing  that. 

When  Tony  and  his  sister  arrived  they  wanted 
to  go  straight  to  the  pond,  but  their  ayah  said 
they  must  take  a  sharp  walk  first,  and  as  she  said 
this  she  glanced  at  the  time-board  to  see  when  the 
Gardens  closed  that  night.  It  read  half -past  five. 
Poor  ayah !  she  is  the  one  who  laughs  continuously 
because  there  are  so  many  white  children  in  the 
world,  but  she  was  not  to  laugh  much  more  that 
day. 

Well,  they  went  up  the  Baby  Walk  and 
back,  and  when  they  returned  to  the  time-board 
she  was  surprised  to  see  that  it  now  read  five  o'clock 
for  closing  time.  But  she  was  unacquainted  with 
the  tricky  ways  of  the  fairies,  and  so  did  not 
see  (as  Maimie  and  Tony  saw  at  once)  that  they 
had  changed  the  hour  because  there  was  to  be  a  ball 
to-night.  She  said  there  was  only  time  now  to  walk 
to  the  top  of  the  Hump  and  back,  and  as  they 
trotted  along  with  her  she  little  guessed  what  was 
thrilling  their  little  breasts.  You  see  the  chance  had 
^14 


THE   LITTLE    HOUSE 

come  of  seeing  a  fairy  ball.  Never,  Tony  felt, 
tould  he  hope  for  a  better  chance. 

He  had  to  feel  this,  for  Maimie  so  plainly  felt 
it  for  him.  Her  eager  eyes  asked  the  question,  "Is 
it  to-day .?"  and  he  gasped  and  then  nodded.  Maimie 
slipped  her  hand  into  Tony's,  and  hers  was  hot, 
but  his  was  cold.  She  did  a  very  kind  thing;  she 
took  off  her  scarf  and  gave  it  to  him !  "In  case  you 
should  feel  cold,"  she  whispered.  Her  face  was 
aglow,  but  Tony's  was  very  gloomy. 

As  they  turned  on  the  top  of  the  Hump  he  whis- 
pered to  her,  "I'm  afraid  Nurse  would  see  me,  so 
I  sha'n't  be  able  to  do  it." 

Maimie  admired  him  more  than  ever  for  being 
afraid  of  nothing  but  their  ayah,  when  there  were 
so  many  unknown  terrors  to  fear,  and  she  said 
aloud,  "Tony,  I  shall  race  you  to  the  gate,"  and 
in  a  whisper,  "Then  you  can  hide,"  and  off  they 
ran. 

Tony  could  always  outdistance  her  easily,  but 

never  had  she  known  him  speed  away  so  quickly  as 

now,  and  she  was  sure  he  hurried  that  he  might 

have  more  time  to  hide.  "Brave,  brave !"  her  doting 

215 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

eyes  were  crying  when  she  got  a  dreadful  shock; 
instead  of  hiding,  her  hero  had  run  out  at  the  gate ! 
At  this  bitter  sight  Maimie  stopped  blankly,  as 
if  all  her  lapful  of  darling  treasures  were  suddenly 
spilled,  and  then  for  very  disdain  she  could  not 
sob ;  in  a  swell  of  protest  against  all  puling  cowards 
she  ran  to  St.  Govor's  Well  and  hid  in  Tony's 
stead. 

When  the  ayah  reached  the  gate  and  saw  Tony 
far  in  front  she  thought  her  other  charge  was  with 
him  and  passed  out.  Twilight  came  on,  and  scores 
and  hundreds  of  people  passed  out,  including  the 
last  one,  who  always  has  to  run  for  it,  but  Maimie 
saw  them  not.  She  had  shut  her  eyes  tight  and  glued 
them  with  passionate  tears.  When  she  opened  them 
something  very  cold  ran  up  her  legs  and  up  her 
arms  and  dropped  into  her  heart.  It  was  the  still- 
ness of  the  Gardens.  Then  she  heard  clangs  then 
from  another  part  clang,  then  clang,  clang  far 
away.  It  was  the  Closing  of  the  Gates. 

Immediately  the  last  clang  had  died  away 
Maimie  distinctly  heard  a  voice  say,  "So  that's  all 
right."  It  had  a  wooden  sound  and  seemed  to  come 
216 


THE    LITTLE    HOUSE 

from  above,  and  she  looked  up  in  time  to  see  an  elm 
tree  stretching  out  its  arms  and  yawning. 

She  was  about  to  say,  "I  never  knew  you  could 
speak!"  when  a  metallic  voice  that  seemed  to  come 
from  the  ladle  at  the  well  remarked  to  the  elm,  "I 
suppose  it  is  a  bit  coldish  up  there?"  and  the  elm 
replied,  "Not  particularly,  but  you  do  get  numb 
standing  so  long  on  one  leg,"  and  he  flapped  his 
arms  vigorously  just  as  the  cabmen  do  before  they 
drive  off.  Maimie  was  quite  surprised  to  see  that  a 
number  of  other  tall  trees  were  doing  the  same  sort 
of  thing,  and  she  stole  away  to  the  Baby  Walk  and 
crouched  observantly  under  a  Minorca  Holly  which 
shrugged  its  shoulders  but  did  not  seem  to  mind 
her. 

She  was  not  In  the  least  cold.  She  was  wearing 
a  russet-coloured  pelisse  and  had  the  hood  over  her 
head,  so  that  nothing  of  her  showed  except 
her  dear  little  face  and  her  curls.  The  rest  of  her 
real  self  was  hidden  far  away  inside  so  many  warm 
garments  that  in  shape  she  seemed  rather  like  a 
ball.  She  was  about  forty  round  the  waist. 

There  was  a  good  deal  going  on  in  the  Baby 
217 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

Walk,  when  Maimie  arrived  in  time  to  see  a  mag- 
nolia and  a  Persian  lilac  step  over  the  railing  and 
set  off  for  a  smart  walk.  They  moved  in  a  jerky  sort 
of  way  certainly,  but  that  was  because  they  used 
crutches.  An  elderberry  hobbled  across  the  walk, 
and  stood  chatting  with  some  young  quinces,  and 
they  all  had  crutches.  The  crutches  were  the  sticks 
that  are  tied  to  young  trees  and  shrubs.  They  were 
quite  familiar  obj  ects  to  Maimie,  but  she  had  never 
known  what  they  were  for  until  to-night. 

She  peeped  up  the  walk  and  saw  her  first  fairy. 
He  was  a  street  boy  fairy  who  was  running  up  the 
walk  closing  the  weeping  trees.  The  way  he  did  it 
was  this,  he  pressed  a  spring  in  the  trunk  and  they 
shut  like  umbrellas,  deluging  the  little  plants  be- 
neath with  snow.  "Oh,  you  naughty,  naujhty 
child!"  Maimie  cried  indignantly,  for  she  knew 
what  it  was  to  have  a  dripping  umbrella  about  your 
ears. 

Fortunately  the  mischievous  fellow  was  out  of 

earshot,  but  the  chrysanthemums  heard  her,  and 

they  all  said  so  pointedly  "Hoity-toity,  what  is 

tills?"  that  she  had  to  come  out  and  show  herself. 

218 


THE    LITTLE    HOUSE 

Then  the  whole  vegetable  kingdom  was  rather  puz- 
zled what  to  do. 

"Of  course  it  is  no  affair  of  ours,"  a  spindle 
tree  said  after  they  had  whispered  together,  "but 
you  know  quite  well  you  ought  not  to  be  here,  and 
perhaps  our  duty  is  to  report  you  to  the  fairies; 
what  do  you  think  yourself?" 

"I  think  you  should  not,"  Maimie  replied,  which 
so  perplexed  them  that  they  said  petulantly  there 
was  no  arguing  with  her.  "I  wouldn't  ask  it  of 
you,"  she  assured  them,  "if  I  thought  it  was 
wrong,"  and  of  course  after  this  they  could  not  well 
carry  tales.  They  then  said,  "Well-a-day,"  and 
"Such  is  life !"  for  they  can  be  frightfully  sarcas- 
tic, but  she  felt  sorry  for  those  of  them  who  had  no 
crutches,  and  she  said  good-naturedly,  "Before 
I  go  to  the  fairies'  ball,  I  should  like  to  take  you 
for  a  walk  one  at  a  time ;  you  can  lean  on  me,  you 
know." 

At  this  they  clapped  their  hands,  and  she  es- 
corted them  up  to  the  Baby  Walk  and  back  again, 
one  at  a  time,  putting  an  arm  or  a  finger  round 
the  very  frail,  setting  their  leg  right  when  it  got 
219 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

too  ridiculous,  and  treating  the  foreign  ones  quite 
as  courteously  as  the  English,  though  she  could 
not  understand  a  word  they  said. 

They  behaved  well  on  the  whole,  though  some 
whimpered  that  she  had  not  taken  them  as 
far  as  she  took  Nancy  or  Grace  or  Dorothy,  and 
others  jagged  her,  but  it  was  quite  unintentional, 
and  she  was  too  much  of  a  lady  to  cry  out.  So  much 
walking  tired  her  and  she  was  anxious  to  be  off  to 
the  ball,  but  she  no  longer  felt  afraid.  The  reason 
she  felt  no  more  fear  was  that  it  was  now  night- 
time, and  in  the  dark,  you  remember,  Maimie  was 
always  rather  strange. 

They  were  now  loath  to  let  her  go,  for,  "If  the 
fairies  see  you,"  they  warned  her,  "they  will  mis- 
chief you,  stab  you  to  death  or  compel  you  to  nurse 
their  children  or  turn  you  into  something  tedious, 
like  an  evergreen  oak."  As  they  said  this  they 
looked  with  affected  pity  at  an  evergreen  oak, 
for  in  winter  they  are  very  envious  of  the  ever- 
greens. 

"Oh,  la!"  replied  the  oak  bitingly,  "how  de- 
liciously  cosy  it  is  to  stand  here  buttoned  to  the 
220 


THE    LITTLE    HOUSE 

neck  and  watch  jou  poor  naked  creatures  shiver- 
ing!" 

This  made  them  sulky  though  they  had  really 
brought  it  on  themselves,  and  they  drew  for  Mai- 
mie  a  very  gloomy  picture  of  the  perils  that  faced 
her  if  she  insisted  on  going  to  the  ball. 

She  learned  from  a  purple  filbert  that  the  court 
was  not  in  its  usual  good  temper  at  present,  the 
cause  being  the  tantalising  heart  of  the  Duke  of 
Christmas  Daisies.  He  was  an  Oriental  fairy,  very 
poorly  of  a  dreadful  complaint,  namely,  inability 
to  love,  and  though  he  had  tried  many  ladies  in 
many  lands  he  could  not  fall  in  love  with  one  of 
them.  Queen  Mab,  who  rules  in  the  Gardens,  had 
been  confident  that  her  girls  would  bewitch  him, 
but  alas,  his  heart,  the  doctor  said,  remained  cold. 
This  rather  irritating  doctor,  who  was  his  private 
physician,  felt  the  Duke's  heart  immediately  after 
any  lady  was  presented,  and  then  always  shook  his 
bald  head  and  murmured,  "Cold,  quite  cold!"  Nat- 
urally Queen  Mab  felt  disgraced,  and  first  she  tried 
the  effect  of  ordering  the  court  into  tears  for  nine 
minutes,  and  then  she  blamed  the  Cupids  and  de- 
221 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

creed  that  they  should  wear  fools'  caps  until  they 
thawed  the  Duke's  frozen  heart. 

"How  I  should  love  to  see  the  Cupids  in  tJieir 
dear  little  fools'  caps !"  Maimie  cried,  and  away  she 
ran  to  look  for  them  very  recklessly,  for  the  Cupids 
hate  to  be  laughed  at. 

It  is  always  easy  to  discover  where  a  fairies'  ball 
is  being  held,  as  ribbons  are  stretched  between  it 
and  all  the  populous  parts  of  the  Gardens,  on  which 
those  invited  may  walk  to  the  dance  without  wetting 
their  pumps.  This  night  the  ribbons  were  red  and 
looked  very  pretty  on  the  snow. 

Maimie  walked  alongside  one  of  them  for  some 
distance  without  meeting  anybody,  but  at  last  she 
saw  a  fairy  cavalcade  approaching.  To  her  sur- 
prise they  seemed  to  be  returning  from  the  ball, 
and  she  had  just  time  to  hide  from  them  by  bending 
her  knees  and  holding  out  her  arms  and  pretending 
to  be  a  garden  chair.  There  were  six  horsemen  in 
front  and  six  behind,  in  the  middle  walked  a  prim 
lady  wearing  a  long  train  held  up  by  two  pages, 
and  on  the  train,  as  if  it  were  a  couch,  reclined  a 
lovely  girl,  for  in  this  way  do  aristocratic  fairies 
222 


THE    LITTLE    HOUSE 

travel  about.  She  was  dressed  in  golden  rain,  but 
the  most  enviable  part  of  her  was  her  neck,  which 
was  blue  in  colour  and  of  a  velvet  texture,  and  of 
course  showed  off  her  diamond  necklace  as  no  white 
throat  could  have  glorified  it.  The  high-born  fai- 
ries obtain  this  admired  effect  by  pricking  their 
skin,  which  lets  the  blue  blood  come  through  and 
dye  them,  and  you  cannot  imagine  anything  so 
dazzling  unless  you  have  seen  the  ladies'  busts  in 
the  jewellers'  windows. 

Maimie  also  noticed  that  the  whole  cavalcade 
seemed  to  be  in  a  passion,  tilting  their  noses  higher 
than  it  can  be  safe  for  even  fairies  to  tilt  them, 
and  she  concluded  that  this  must  be  another 
case  in  which  the  doctor  had  said  "Cold,  quite 
cold !" 

Well,  she  followed  the  ribbon  to  a  place  where 
it  became  a  bridge  over  a  dry  puddle  into  which 
another  fairy  had  fallen  and  been  unable  to  climb 
out.  At  first  this  little  damsel  was  afraid  of  Maimie, 
who  most  kindly  went  to  her  aid,  but  soon  she  sat 
in  her  hand  chatting  gaily  and  explaining  that  her 
name  was  Brownie,  and  that  though  only  a.  poor 
223 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

street  singer  she  was  on  her  way  to  the  ball  to  sec 
if  the  Duke  would  have  her. 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  "I  am  rather  plain,"  and 
this  made  Maimie  uncomfortable,  for  indeed  the 
simple  little  creature  was  almost  quite  plain  for  a 
fairy. 

It  was  difficult  to  know  what  to  reply. 

"I  see  you  think  I  have  no  chance,"  Brownie 
said  falteringly. 

"I  don't  say  that,"  Maimie  answered  politely, 
"of  course  your  face  is  just  a  tiny  bit  homely, 
but — "  Really  it  was  quite  awkward  for  her. 

Fortunately  she  remembered  about  her  father 
and  the  bazaar.  He  had  gone  to  a  fashionable 
bazaar  where  all  the  most  beautiful  ladies  in  Lon- 
don were  on  view  for  half-a-crown  the  second  day, 
but  on  his  return  home  instead  of  being  dissatisfied 
with  Maimie's  mother  he  had  said,  "You  can't 
think,  my  dear,  what  a  relief  it  is  to  see  a  homely 
face  again." 

Maimie  repeated  this  story,  and  it  fortified 
Brownie  tremendously,  indeed  she  had  no  longer 
the  slightest  doubt  that  the  Duke  would  choose 
224 


THE    LITTLE    HOUSE 

her.  So  she  scudded  away  up  the  ribbon,  calling 
out  to  Maimie  not  to  follow  lest  the  Queen  should 
mischief  her. 

But  Maimie's  curiosity  tugged  her  forward,  and 
presently  at  the  seven  Spanish  chestnuts,  she  saw 
a  wonderful  light.  She  crept  forward  until  she 
was  quite  near  it,  and  then  she  peeped  from  be- 
hind a  tree. 

The  light,  which  was  as  high  as  your  head  above 
the  ground,  was  composed  of  myriads  of  glow- 
worms all  holding  on  to  each  other,  and  so  form- 
ing a  dazzling  canopy  over  the  fairy  ring.  There 
were  thousands  of  little  people  looking  on,  but  they 
were  in  shadow  and  drab  in  colour  compared  to 
the  glorious  creatures  within  that  luminous  circle 
who  were  so  bewilderingly  bright  that  Maimie  had 
to  wink  hard  all  the  time  she  looked  at  them. 

It  was  amazing  and  even  irritating  to  her  that 
the  Duke  of  Christmas  Daisies  should  be  able  to 
keep  out  of  love  for  a  moment :  yet  out  of  love  his 
dusky  grace  still  was:  you  could  see  it  by  the 
shamed  looks  of  the  Queen  and  court  (though  they 
pretended  not  to  care),  by  the  way  darHng  ladies 
225 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

brought  forward  for  his  approval  burst  into  tears 
as  they  were  told  to  pass  on,  and  by  his  own  most 
dreary  face. 

Maimie  could  also  see  the  pompous  doctor  feel- 
ing the  Duke's  heart  and  hear  him  give  utterance 
to  his  parrot  cry,  and  she  was  particularly  sorry 
for  the  Cupids,  who  stood  in  their  fools'  caps  in 
obscure  places  and,  every  time  they  heard  that 
"Cold,  quite  cold,"  bowed  their  disgraced  little 
heads. 

She  was  disappointed  not  to  see  Peter  Pan,  and 
I  may  as  well  tell  you  now  why  he  was  so  late  that 
night.  It  was  because  his  boat  had  got  wedged  on 
the  Serpentine  between  fields  of  floating  ice, 
through  which  he  had  to  break  a  perilous  passage 
with  his  trusty  paddle. 

The  fairies  had  as  yet  scarcely  missed  him,  for 
they  could  not  dance,  so  heavy  were  their  hearts. 
They  forget  all  the  steps  when  they  are  sad  and 
remember  them  again  when  they  are  merry.  David 
tells  me  that  fairies  never  say  "We  feel  happy": 
what  they  say  is,  "We  feel  danceyJ^^ 

Well,  they  were  looking  very  undancey  indeed. 


THE    LITTLE    HOUSE 

when  sudden  laughter  broke  out  among  the  on- 
lookers, caused  by  Brownie,  who  had  just  arrived 
and  was  insisting  on  her  right  to  be  presented  to 
the  Duke. 

Maimie  craned  forward  eagerly  to  see  how  her 
friend  fared,  though  she  had  really  no  hope;  no 
one  seemed  to  have  the  least  hope  except  Brownie 
herself,  who,  however,  was  absolutely  confident. 
She  was  led  before  his  grace,  and  the  doctor  put- 
ting a  finger  carelessly  on  the  ducal  heart,  which 
for  convenience  sake  was  reached  by  a  little  trap- 
door in  his  diamond  shirt,  had  begun  to  say  me- 
chanically, "Cold,  qui — ,"  when  he  stopped 
abruptly. 

"What's  this?"  he  cried,  and  first  he  shook  the 
heart  like  a  watch,  and  then  put  his  ear  to  it. 

"Bless  my  soul!"  cried  the  doctor,  and  by  this 
time  of  course  the  excitement  among  the  spectators 
was  tremendous,  fairies  fainting  right  and  left. 

Everybody  stared  breathlessly  at  the  Duke,  who 

was  very  much  startled  and  looked  as  if  he  would 

like  to  run  away.  "Good  gracious  mel"  the  doctor 

was  heard  muttering,  and  now  the  heart  was  evi» 

227 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

dently  on  fire,  for  he  had  to  jerk  his  fingers  awaj 
from  it  and  put  them  in  his  mouth. 

The  suspense  was  awful! 

Then  in  a  loud  voice,  and  bowing  low,  "My  Lord 
Duke,"  said  the  physician  elatedly,  "I  have  the 
honour  to  inform  your  excellency  that  your  grace 
is  in  love." 

You  can't  conceive  the  effect  of  it.  Brownie  held 
out  her  arms  to  the  Duke  and  he  flung  himself  into 
them,  the  Queen  leapt  into  the  arms  of  the  Lord 
Chamberlain,  and  the  ladies  of  the  court  leapt  into 
the  arms  of  her  gentlemen,  for  it  is  etiquette  to 
follow  her  example  in  everything.  Thus  in  a  single 
moment  about  fifty  marriages  took  place,  for  if 
you  leap  into  each  other's  arms  it  is  a  fairy  wed- 
ding. Of  course  a  clergyman  has  to  be  present. 

How  the  crowd  cheered  and  leapt!  Trumpets 
brayed,  the  moon  came  out,  and  immediately  a 
thousand  couples  seized  hold  of  its  rays  as  if  they 
were  ribbons  in  a  May  dance  and  waltzed  in  wild 
abandon  round  the  fairy  ring.  Most  gladsome 
sight  of  all,  the  Cupids  plucked  the  hated  fools' 
caps  from  their  heads  and  cast  them  high  in  the 
228 


THE    LITTLE    HOUSE 

air.  And  then  Maimie  went  and  spoiled  everything. 
She  couldn't  help  it.  She  was  crazy  with  delight 
over  her  little  friend's  good  fortune,  so  she  took 
several  steps  forward  and  cried  in  an  ecstasy,  "Oh, 
Brownie,  how  splendid!" 

Everybody  stood  still,  the  music  ceased,  the 
lights  went  out,  and  all  in  the  time  you  may  take 
to  say  "Oh  dear !"  An  awful  sense  of  her  peril  came 
upon  Maimie,  too  late  she  remembered  that  she 
was  a  lost  child  in  a  place  where  no  human  must 
be  between  the  locking  and  the  opening  of  the 
gates,  she  heard  the  murmur  of  an  angry  multi- 
tude, she  saw  a  thousand  swords  flashing  for  her 
blood,  and  she  uttered  a  cry  of  terror  and  fled. 

How  she  ran!  and  all  the  time  her  eyes  were 
starting  out  of  her  head.  Many  times  she  lay  down, 
and  then  quickly  jumped  up  and  ran  on  again. 
Her  little  mind  was  so  entangled  in  terrors  that 
she  no  longer  knew  she  was  in  the  Gardens.  The 
one  thing  she  was  sure  of  was  that  she  must  never 
cease  to  run,  and  she  thought  she  was  still  running 
long  after  she  had  dropped  in  the  Figs  and  gone 
to  sleep.  She  thought  the  snowflakes  falling  on  her 
229 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

face  were  lier  mother  kissing  her  good-night.  She 
thought  her  coverlet  of  snow  was  a  warm  blanket, 
and  tried  to  pull  it  over  her  head.  And  when  she 
heard  talking  through  her  dreams  she  thought  it 
was  mother  bringing  father  to  the  nursery  door 
to  look  at  her  as  she  slept.  But  it  was  the  fairies, 

I  am  very  glad  to  be  able  to  say  that  they  no 
longer  desired  to  mischief  her.  When  she  rushed 
away  they  had  rent  the  air  with  such  cries  as  "Slay 
her !"  "Turn  her  into  something  extremely  unpleas- 
ant !"  and  so  on,  but  the  pursuit  was  delayed  while 
they  discussed  who  should  march  in  front,  and  this 
gave  Duchess  Brownie  time  to  cast  herself  before 
the  Queen  and  demand  a  boon. 

Every  bride  has  a  right  to  a  boon,  and  what  she 
asked  for  was  Maimie's  life.  "Anything  except 
that,"  replied  Queen  Mab  sternly,  and  all  the 
fairies  chanted  "Anything  except  that."  But  when 
they  learned  how  Maimie  had  befriended  Brownie 
and  so  enabled  her  to  attend  the  ball  to  their  great 
glory  and  renown,  they  gave  three  huzzas  for  the 
little  human,  and  set  off,  like  an  army,  to  thank 
her,  the  court  advancing  in  front  and  the  canopy 
230 


THE    LITTLE    HOUSE 

keeping  step  with  it.  They  trailed  Maimie  easily 
by  her  footprints  in  the  snow. 

But  though  they  found  her  deep  in  snow  in  the 
Figs,  it  seemed  impossible  to  thank  Maimie,  for 
they  could  not  waken  her.  They  went  through  the 
form  of  thanking  her,  that  is  to  say,  the  new  King 
stood  on  her  body  and  read  her  a  long  address 
of  welcome,  but  she  heard  not  a  word  of  it.  They 
also  cleared  the  snow  off  her,  but  soon  she  was  cov- 
ered again,  and  they  saw  she  was  in  danger  of 
perishing  of  cold. 

"Turn  her  into  something  that  does  not  mind 
the  cold,"  seemed  a  good  suggestion  of  the  doc- 
tor's, but  the  only  thing  they  could  think  of  that 
does  not  mind  cold  was  a  snowflake.  "And  it  might 
melt,"  the  Queen  pointed  out,  so  that  idea  had  to 
be  given  up. 

A  magnificent  attempt  was  made  to  carry  her 
to  a  sheltered  spot,  but  though  there  were  so  many 
of  them  she  was  too  heavy.  By  this  time  all  the 
ladies  were  crying  in  their  handkerchiefs,  but  pres- 
ently the  Cupids  had  a  lovely  idea.  "Build  a  house 
round  her,"  they  cried,  and  at  once  everybody  per« 
2B1 


THE   LITTLE   WHITE    BIRD 

ceived  that  this  was  the  thing  to  do;  in  a  moment 
a  hundred  fairy  sawyers  were  among  the  branches, 
architects  were  running  round  Maimie,  measuring 
her;  a  bricklayer's  yard  sprang  up  at  her  feet, 
seventy-five  masons  rushed  up  with  the  foundation 
stone  and  the  Queen  laid  it,  overseers  were  ap- 
pointed to  keep  the  boys  off,  scaffoldings  were  run 
up,  the  whole  place  rang  with  hammers  and  chisels 
and  turning  lathes,  and  by  this  time  the  roof  was 
on  and  the  glaziers  were  putting  in  the  windows. 

The  house  was  exactly  the  size  of  Maimie  and 
perfectly  lovely.  One  of  her  arms  was  extended 
and  this  had  bothered  them  for  a  second,  but  they 
built  a  verandah  round  it,  leading  to  the  front 
door.  The  windows  were  the  size  of  a  coloured  pict- 
ure-book and  the  door  rather  smaller,  but  it  would 
be  easy  for  her  to  get  out  by  taking  off  the  roof. 
The  fairies,  as  Is  their  custom,  clapped  their  hands 
with  delight  over  their  cleverness,  and  they  were 
all  so  madly  In  love  with  the  little  house  that  they 
could  not  bear  to  think  they  had  finished  it.  So 
they  gave  It  ever  so  many  little  extra  touches,  and 
even  then  they  added  more  extra  touches. 
232 


THE    LITTLE    HOUSE 

For  instance,  two  of  them  ran  up  a  ladder  and 
put  on  a  chimney. 

"Now  we  fear  it  is  quite  finished,"  they  sighed. 

But  no,  for  another  two  ran  up  the  ladder,  and 
tied  some  smoke  to  the  chimney. 

"That  certainly  finishes  it,"  they  cried  reluct- 
antly. 

"Not  at  all,"  cried  a  glow-worm,  "if  she  were  to 
wake  without  seeing  a  night-light  she  might  be 
frightened,  so  I  shall  be  her  night-light." 

"Wait  one  moment,"  said  a  china  merchant, 
"and  I  shall  make  you  a  saucer." 

Now  alas,  it  was  absolutely  finished. 

Oh,  dear  no ! 

"Gracious  me,"  cried  a  brass  manufacturer, 
"there's  no  handle  on  the  door,"  and  he  put  one  on. 

An  ironmonger  added  a  scraper  and  an  old  lady 
ran  up  with  a  door-mat.  Carpenters  arrived  with 
a  water-butt,  and  the  painters  insisted  on  paint- 
ing it. 

Finished  at  last! 

"Finished!  how  can  it  be  finished,"  the  plumber 
demanded  scornfully,  "before  hot  and  cold  are  put 
233 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

in?"  and  he  put  in  hot  and  cold.  Then  an  army 
of  gardeners  arrived  with  fairy  carts  and  spades 
and  seeds  and  bulbs  and  forcing-houses,  and  soon 
they  had  a  flower  garden  to  the  right  of  the  veran- 
dah and  a  vegetable  garden  to  the  left,  and  roses 
and  clematis  on  the  walls  of  the  house,  and  in  less 
time  than  five  minutes  all  these  dear  things  were 
in  full  bloom. 

Oh,  how  beautiful  the  little  house  was  now !  But 
it  was  at  last  finished  true  as  true,  and  they  had 
to  leave  it  and  return  to  the  dance.  They  all  kissed 
their  hands  to  it  as  they  went  away,  and  the  last 
to  go  was  Brownie.  She  stayed  a  moment  behind 
the  others  to  drop  a  pleasant  dream  down  the 
chimney. 

All  through  the  night  the  exquisite  little  house 
stood  there  in  the  Figs  taking  care  of  Maimie, 
and  she  never  knew.  She  slept  until  the  dream  was 
quite  finished  and  woke  feeling  deliciously  cosy 
just  as  morning  was  breaking  from  its  egg,  and 
then  she  almost  fell  asleep  again,  and  then  she 
called  out,  "Tony,"  for  she  thought  she  was  at 
home  in  the  nursery.  As  Tony  made  no  answer, 
234 


THE    LITTLE    HOUSE 

she  sat  up,  whereupon  her  head  hit  the  roof,  and 
it  opened  hke  the  Hd  of  a  box,  and  to  her  bewil- 
derment she  saw  all  around  her  the  Kensington 
Gardens  lying  deep  in  snow.  As  she  was  not  in  the 
nursery  she  wondered  whether  this  was  really  her- 
self, so  she  pinched  her  cheeks,  and  then  she  knew 
it  was  herself,  and  this  reminded  her  that  she  was 
in  the  middle  of  a  great  adventure.  She  remem- 
bered now  everything  that  had  happened  to  her 
from  the  closing  of  the  gates  up  to  her  running 
away  from  the  fairies,  but  however,  she  asked 
herself,  had  she  got  into  this  funny  place?  She 
stepped  out  by  the  roof,  right  over  the  garden, 
and  then  she  saw  the  dear  house  in  which  she  had 
passed  the  night.  It  so  entranced  her  that  she  could 
think  of  nothing  else. 

"Oh,  you  darling,  oh,  you  sweet,  oh,  you  love !" 
she  cried. 

Perhaps  a  human  voice  frightened  the  little 
house,  or  maybe  it  now  knew  that  its  work  was 
done,  for  no  sooner  had  Maimie  spoken  than  it 
began  to  grow  smaller;  it  shrank  so  slowly  that 
she  could  scarce  believe  it  was  shrinking,  yet  she 
235 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

soon  knew  that  it  could  not  contain  her  now.  It 
always  remained  as  complete  as  ever,  but  it  became 
smaller  and  smaller,  and  the  garden  dwindled  at 
the  same  time,  and  the  snow  crept  closer,  lapping 
house  and  garden  up.  Now  the  house  was  the  size 
of  a  little  dog's  kennel,  and  now  of  a  Noah's  Ark, 
but  still  you  could  see  the  smoke  and  the  door- 
handle and  the  roses  on  the  wall,  every  one  com- 
plete. The  glow-worm  light  was  waning  too,  but 
it  was  still  there.  "Darling,  loveliest,  don't  go!" 
Maimie  cried,  falling  on  her  knees,  for  the  little 
house  was  now  the  size  of  a  reel  of  thread,  but  still 
quite  complete.  But  as  she  stretched  out  her  arms 
imploringly  the  snow  crept  up  on  all  sides  until 
it  met  itself,  and  where  the  little  house  had  been 
was  now  one  unbroken  expanse  of  snow. 

Maimie  stamped  her  foot  naughtily,  and  was 
putting  her  fingers  to  her  eyes,  when  she  heard  a 
kind  voice  say,  "Don't  cry,  pretty  human,  don't 
cry,"  and  then  she  turned  round  and  saw  a  beauti- 
ful little  naked  boy  regarding  her  wistfully.  She 
knew  at  once  that  he  must  be  Peter  Pan. 


2S6 


XVIII 

ter's  gc 

MaIMIE  felt  quite  shy,  but  Peter  knew  not  what 
shy  was. 

"I  hope  you  have  had  a  good  night,"  he  said 
earnestly. 

"Thank  you,"  she  replied,  "I  was  so  cosy  and 
warm.  But  you" — ^and  she  looked  at  his  nakedness 
awkwardly — "  don't  you  feel  the  least  bit  cold?" 

Now  cold  was  another  word  Peter  had  forgotten, 
so  he  answered,  "I  think  not,  but  I  may  be  wrong  : 
you  see  I  am  rather  ignorant.  I  am  not  exactly  a 
boy,  Solomon  says  I  am  a  Betwixt-and-Between." 

"So  that  is  what  it  is  called,"  said  Maimie 
thoughtfully. 

"That's  not  my  name,"  he  explained,  "my  name 
is  Peter  Pan." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  she  said,  "I  know,  everybody 
knows." 

You  can't  think  how  pleased  Peter  Was  to  learn 
237 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

that  all  the  people  outside  the  gates  knew  about 
him.  He  begged  Maimie  to  tell  him  what  they  knew 
and  what  they  said,  and  she  did  so.  They  were 
sitting  by  this  time  on  a  fallen  tree;  Peter  had 
cleared  off  the  snow  for  Maimie,  but  he  sat  on  a 
snowy  bit  himself. 
-•"'"  "Squeeze  closer,"  Maimie  said. 

"What  is  that?"  he  asked,  and  she  showed  him, 
and  then  he  did  it.  They  talked  together  and  he 
found  that  people  knew  a  great  deal  about  him, 
but  not  everything,  not  that  he  had  gone  back  to 
his  mother  and  been  barred  out,  for  instance,  and 
he  said  nothing  of  this  to  Maimie,  for  it  still  hu- 
miliated him. 

"Do  they  know  that  I  play  games  exactly  like 
real  boys?"  he  asked  very  proudly.  "Oh,  Maimie, 
please  tell  them!"  But  when  he  revealed  how  he 
played,  by  sailing  his  hoop  on  the  Round  Pond, 
and  so--on,  she  was  simply  horrified. 

"All  your  ways  of  playing,"  she  said  with  her 
big  eyes  on  him,  "are  quite,  quite  wrong,  and  not 
in  the  least  like  how  boys  play !" 

Poor  Peter  uttered  a  little  moan  at  this,  and  he 
238 


PETER'S    GOAT 

cried  for  '.he  first  time  for  I  know  not  how  long. 
Maimie  was  extremely  sorry  for  him,  and  lent  him 
her  handkerchief,  but  he  didn't  know  in  the  least 
what  to  do  with  it,  so  she  showed  him,  that  is  to 
say,  she  wiped  her  eyes,  and  then  gave  it  back  to 
him,  saying  "Now  you  do  it,"  but  instead  of  wip- 
ing his  own  eyes  he  wiped  hers,  and  she  thought 
it  best  to  pretend  that  this  was  what  she  had 
meant. 

She  said,  out  of  pity  for  him,  "I  shall  give  you 
a  kiss  if  you  like,"  but  though  he  once  knew  he 
had  long  forgotten  what  kisses  are,  and  he  replied, 
"  Thank  you,"  and  held  out  his  hand,  thinking 
she  had  offered  to  put  something  into  it.  This  was 
a  great  shock  to  her,  but  she  felt  she  could  not 
explain  without  shaming  him,  so  with  charming 
delicacy  she  gave  Peter  a  thimble  which  happened 
to  be  in  her  pocket,  and  pretended  that  it  was  a 
kiss.  Poor  little  boy!  he  quite  believed  her,  and  to 
this  day  he  wears  it  on  his  finger,  though  there 
can  be  scarcely  anyone  who  needs  a  thimble  so 
little.  You  see,  though  still  a  tiny  child,  it  was 
really  years  and  years  since  he  had  seen  his  mother, 
239 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

and  I  daresay  the  baby  who  had  supplanted  him 
was  now  a  man  with  whiskers. 

But  you  must  not  think  that  Peter  Pan  was  a 
boy  to  pity  rather  than  to  admire;  if  Maimie  be- 
gan by  thinking  this,  she  soon  found  she  was  very 
much  mistaken.  Her  eyes  ghstened  with  admiration 
when  he  told  her  of  his  adventures,  especially  of 
how  he  went  to  and  fro  between  the  island  and  the 
Gardens  in  the  Thrush's  Nest. 

"  How  romantic,"  Maimie  exclaimed,  but  it  was 
another  unknown  word,  and  he  hung  his  head 
thinking  she  was  despising  him. 

"I  suppose  Tony  would  not  have  done  that.'"' 
he  said  very  humbly. 

"Never,  never!"  she  answered  with  conviction, 
*'he  would  have  been  afraid." 

"What  is  afraid?"  asked  Peter  longingly.  He 
thought  it  must  be  some  splendid  thing.  "I  do  wish 
you  would  teach  me  how  to  be  afraid,  Maimie,'* 
he  said. 

"I  believe  no  one  could  teach  that  to  you,"  she 
answered  adoringly,  but  Peter  thought  she  meant 
that  he  was  stupid.  She  had  told  him  about  Tony 
g40 


I 


PETER'S    GOAT 

and  of  the  wicked  thing  she  did  in  the  dark  to 
frighten  him  (she  knew  quite  well  that  it  was 
wicked),  but  Peter  misunderstood  her  meaning  and 
said,  "Oh,  how  I  wish  I  was  as  brave  as  Tony." 

It  quite  irritated  her.  "You  are  twenty  thousand 
times  braver  than  Tony,"  she  said,  "you  are  ever 
so  much  the  bravest  boy  I  ever  knew !" 

He  could  scarcely  believe  she  meant  it,  but  when 
he  did  believe  he  screamed  with  joy. 

"And  if  you  want  very  much  to  give  me  a  kiss," 
Maimie  said,  "you  can  do  it." 

Very  reluctantly  Peter  began  to  take  the  thimble 
off  his  finger.  He  thought  she  wanted  it  back. 

"I  don't  mean  a  kiss,"  she  said  hurriedly,  "I 
mean  a  thimble." 

"What's  that?"  Peter  asked. 

"It's  like  this,"  she  said,  and  kissed  him. 

"I  should  love  to  give  you  a  thimble j"  Peter  said 
gravely,  so  he  gave  her  one.  He  gave  her  quite  a 
number  of  thimbles,  and  then  a  delightful  idea 
came  into  his  head!  "Maimie,"  he  said,  "will  you 
marry  me.f^" 

Now,  strange  to  tell,  the  same  idea  had  come  at 
241 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

exactly  the  same  time  into  Maimie's  head.  "I  should 
like  to,"  she  answered,  "but  will  there  be  room  in 
your  boat  for  two  ?" 

"If  you  squeeze  close,"  he  said  eagerly. 

"Perhaps  the  birds  would  be  angry?" 

He  assured  her  that  the  birds  would  love  to  have 
her,  though  I  am  not  so  certain  of  it  myself.  Also 
that  there  were  very  few  birds  in  winter.  "Of  course 
they  might  want  your  clothes,"  he  had  to  admit 
rather  falteringly. 

She  was  somewhat  indignant  at  this. 

"They  are  always  thinking  of  their  nests,"  he 
said  apologetically,  "and  there  are  some  bits  of 
you" — he  stroked  the  fur  on  her  pelisse — "that 
would  excite  them  very  much." 

"They  sha'n't  have  my  fur,"  she  said  sharply. 

"No,"  he  said,  still  fondling  it,  however,  "no! 
Oh,  Maimie,"  he  said  rapturously,  "do  you  know 
why  I  love  you.^  It  is  because  you  are  like  a  beau- 
tiful nest." 

Somehow  this  made  her  uneasy.   "I  think  you 
are  speaking  more  like  a  bird  than  a  boy  now," 
she  said,  holding  back,  and  indeed  he  was  even 
242 


PETER'S    GOAT 

looking  rather  like  a  bird.  "After  all,"  she  said, 
"you  are  only  a  Betwixt-and-Between."  But  it  hurt 
him  so  much  that  she  immediately  added,  "It  must 
be  a  delicious  thing  to  be." 

"Come  and  be  one  then,  dear  Maimie,"  he  im- 
plored her,  and  they  set  off  for  the  boat,  for  it  was 
now  very  near  Open-Gate  time.  "And  you  are  not 
a  bit  like  a  nest,"  he  whispered  to  please  her. 

"But  I  think  it  is  rather  nice  to  be  like  one,"  she 
said  in  a  woman's  contradictory  way.  "And,  Peter, 
dear,  though  I  can't  give  them  my  fur,  I  wouldn't 
mind  their  building  in  it.  Fancy  a  nest  in  my  neck 
with  little  spotty  eggs  in  it!  Oh,  Peter,  how  per- 
fectly lovely !" 

But  as  they  drew  near  the  Serpentine,  she  shiv- 
ered a  little,  and  said,  "Of  course  I  shall  go  and  see 
mother  often,  quite  often.  It  is  not  as  if  I  was  say- 
ing good-bye  for  ever  to  mother,  it  is  not  in  the 
least  like  that." 

"Oh,  no,"  answered  Peter,  but  in  his  heart  he 

knew  it  was  very  like  that,  and  he  would  have  told 

her  so  had  he  not  been  in  a  quaking  fear  of  losing 

her.  He  was  so  fond  of  her,  he  felt  he  could  not  live 

243 


THE   LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

without  her.  "She  will  forget  her  mother  in  time, 
and  be  happy  with  me,"  he  kept  saying  to  himself, 
and  he  hurried  her  on,  giving  her  thimbles  by  the 
way. 

But  even  when  she  had  seen  the  boat  and  ex- 
claimed ecstatically  over  its  loveliness,  she  still 
talked  tremblingly  about  her  mother.  "You  know 
quite  well,  Peter,  don't  you,"  she  said,  "that  I 
wouldn't  come  unless  I  knew  for  certain  I  could  go 
back  to  mother  whenever  I  want  to  ?  Peter,  say  it !" 

He  said  it,  but  he  could  no  longer  look  her  in  the 
face. 

"If  you  are  sure  your  mother  will  always  want 
you,"  he  added  rather  sourly. 

"The  idea  of  mother's  not  always  wanting  me!" 
Maimie  cried,  and  her  face  glistened. 

"If  she  doesn't  bar  you  out,"  said  Peter  huskily. 

"The  door,"  replied  Maimie,  "will  always,  always 
be  open,  and  mother  will  always  be  waiting  at  it 
for  me." 

"Then,"  said  Peter,  not  without  grimness,  "step 
in,  if  you  feel  so  sure  of  her,"  and  he  helped  Maimie 
into  the  Thrush's  Nest. 

244 


PETER'S    GOAT 

"But  why  don't  you  look  at  me  ?"  she  asked,  tak- 
ing him  by  the  arm. 

Peter  tried  hard  not  to  look,  he  tried  to  push  off, 
then  he  gave  a  great  gulp  and  jumped  ashore  and 
sat  down  miserably  in  the  snow. 

She  went  to  him.  "What  is  it,  dear,  dear  Peter?" 
she  said,  wondering. 

"Oh,  Maimie,"  he  cried,  "it  isn't  fair  to  take  you 
with  me  if  you  think  you  can  go  back.  Your 
mother" — he  gulped  again — "you  don't  know  them 
as  well  as  I  do." 

And  then  he  told  her  the  woful  story  of  how 
he  had  been  barred  out,  and  she  gasped  all  the  time. 
"But  my  mother,"  she  said,  "m?/  mother" 

"Yes,  she  would,"  said  Peter,  "they  are  all  the 
same.  I  daresay  she  is  looking  for  another  one 
already." 

Maimie  said  aghast,  "I  can't  believe  it.  You  see, 
when  you  went  away  your  mother  had  none,  but 
my  mother  has  Tony,  and  surely  they  are  satisfied 
when  they  have  one." 

Peter  replied  bitterly,  "You  should  see  the  let- 
ters Solomon  gets  from  ladies  who  have  six." 
245 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

Just  then  thej  heard  a  grating  creak,  followed 
by  creak,  creak,  all  round  the  Gardens.  It  was  the 
Opening  of  the  Gates,  and  Peter  jumped  nervously 
into  his  boat.  He  knew  Maimie  would  not  come  with 
him  now,  and  he  was  trying  bravely  not  to  cry. 
But  Maimie  was  sobbing  painfully. 

"If  I  should  be  too  late,"  she  called  in  agony, 
"oh,  Peter,  if  she  has  got  another  one  already !" 

Again  he  sprang  ashore  as  if  she  had  called  him 
back.  "I  shall  come  and  look  for  you  to-night,"  he 
said,  squeezing  close,  "but  if  you  hurry  away  I 
think  you  will  be  in  time." 

Then  he  pressed  a  last  thimble  on  her  sweet  little 
mouth,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  so  that 
he  might  not  see  her  go. 

"Dear  Peter!"  she  cried. 

"Dear  Maimie !"  cried  the  tragic  boy. 

She  leapt  into  his  arms,  so  that  it  was  a  sort  of 
fairy  wedding,  and  then  she  hurried  away.  Oh,  how 
she  hastened  to  the  gates !  Peter,  you  may  be  sure, 
was  back  in  the  Gardens  that  night  as  soon  as  Lock- 
out sounded,  but  he  found  no  Maimie,  and  so  he 
knew  she  had  been  in  time.  For  long  he  hoped  that 
246 


PETER'S    GOAT 

some  night  she  would  come  back  to  him;  often  he 
thought  he  saw  her  waiting  for  him  by  the  shore  of 
the  Serpentine  as  his  bark  drew  to  land,  but 
Maimie  never  went  back.  She  wanted  to,  but  she  was 
afraid  that  if  she  saw  her  dear  Betwixt-and- 
Between  again  she  would  linger  with  him  too  long, 
and  besides  the  ayah  now  kept  a  sharp  eye  on  her. 
But  she  often  talked  lovingly  of  Peter  and  she 
knitted  a  kettle-holder  for  him,  and  one  day  when 
she  was  wondering  what  Easter  present  he  would 
like,  her  mother  made  a  suggestion. 

"Nothing,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "would  be 
so  useful  to  him  as  a  goat." 

"He  could  ride  on  it,"  cried  Maimie,  "and  play 
on  his  pipe  at  the  same  time !" 

"Then,"  her  mother  asked,  "won't  you  give  him 
your  goat,  the  one  you  frighten  Tony  with  at 
night.?" 

"But  it  isn't  a  real  goat,"  Maimie  said. 

"It  seems  very  real  to  Tony,"  replied  her  mother. 

"It  seems  frightfully  real  to  me  too,"  Maimie 
admitted,  "but  how  could  I  give  it  to  Peter.?" 

Her  mother  knew  a  way,  and  next  day,  accoia- 
247 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

panied  by  Tony  (who  was  really  quite  a  nice  boy, 
though  of  course  he  could  not  compare),  they  went 
to  the  Gardens,  and  Maimie  stood  alone  within  a 
fairy  ring,  and  then  her  mother,  who  was  a  rather 
gifted  lady,  said, 

'^  My  daughter,  tell  me,  if  you  can, 
What  have  you  got  for  Peter  Pan  f  *' 

To  which  Maimie  replied, 

''  I  have  a  goat  for  him  to  ride. 
Observe  me  cast  it  far  and  wide.** 

She  then  flung  her  arms  about  as  if  she  were  sow- 
ing seed,  and  turned  round  three  times. 
Next  Tony  said, 

"  If  P.  doth  find  it  waiting  here, 
Wilt  neer  again  make  me  to  fear  f  ** 

And  Maimie  answered, 

**  By  dark  or  light  I  fondly  swear 
Never  to  see  goats  anywhere." 

She  also  left  a  letter  to  Peter  in  a  likely  place, 
explaining  what  she  had  done,  and  begging  him  to 
248 


PETER'S    GOAT 

ask  the  fairies  to  turn  the  goat  into  one  convenient 
for  riding  on.  Well,  it  all  happened  just  as  she 
hoped,  for  Peter  found  the  letter,  and  of  course 
nothing  could  be  easier  for  the  fairies  than  to  turn 
the  goat  into  a  real  one,  and  so  that  is  how  Peter 
got  the  goat  on  which  he  now  rides  round  the 
Gardens  every  night  playing  sublimely  on  his 
pipe.  And  Maimie  kept  her  promise  and  never 
frightened  Tony  with  a  goat  again,  though  I 
have  heard  that  she  created  another  animal. 
Until  she  was  quite  a  big  girl  she  continued 
to  leave  presents  for  Peter  in  the  Gardens  (with 
letters  explaining  how  humans  play  with  them), 
and  she  is  not  the  only  one  who  has  done  this. 
David  does  it,  for  instance,  and  he  and  I  know 
the  likehest  place  for  leaving  them  in,  and  we  shall 
tell  you  if  you  like,  but  for  mercy's  sake  don't  ask 
us  before  Porthos,  for  were  he  to  find  out  the  place 
he  would  take  every  one  of  them. 

Though  Peter  still  remembers  Maimie  he  is  be- 
come as  gay  as  ever,  and  often  in  sheer  happiness 
he  jumps  off  his  goat  and  lies  kicking  merrily  on 
the  grass.  Ohj  he  has  a  joyful  time !  But  he  has  still 
249 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

a  vague  memory  that  he  was  a  human  once,  and  it 
makes  him  especially  kind  to  the  house-swallows 
when  they  revisit  the  island,  for  house-swallows  are 
the  spirits  of  little  children  who  have  died.  They 
always  build  in  the  eaves  of  the  houses  where  they 
lived  when  they  were  humans,  and  sometimes  they 
try  to  fly  in  at  a  nursery  window,  and  per- 
haps that  is  why  Peter  loves  them  best  of  all  the 
birds. 

And  the  little  house .^^  Every  lawful  night  (that 
is  to  say,  every  night  except  ball  nights)  the  fairies 
now  build  the  little  house  lest  there  should  be  a 
human  child  lost  in  the  Gardens,  and  Peter  rides 
the  marshes  looking  for  lost  ones,  and  if  he  finds 
them  he  carries  them  on  his  goat  to  the  little  house, 
and  when  they  wake  up  jthey  are  in  it  and  when 
they  step  out  they  sep  it.  The  fairies  build  the  house 
merely  because  it  is  so  pretty,  but  Peter  rides  round 
in  memory  of  Maimie  and  because  he  still  loves 
to  do  just  as  he  believes  real  boys  would  do. 

But  you  must  not  think  that,  because  somewhere 
among  the  trees  the  little  house  is  twinkling,  it  is 
a  safe  ttting  to  remain  in  the  Gardens  after  Lock- 
250 


PETER'S    GOAT 

out  Time.  If  the  bad  ones  among  the  fairies  hap- 
pen to  be  out  that  night  they  will  certainly  mischief 
you,  and  even  though  they  are  not,  you  may  perish 
of  cold  and  dark  before  Peter  Pan  comes  round. 
He  has  been  too  late  several  times,  and  when  he  sees 
he  is  too  late  he  runs  back  to  the  Thrush's  Nest 
for  his  paddle,  of  which  Maimie  had  told  him  the 
true  use,  and  he  digs  a  grave  for  the  child  and 
erects  a  little  tombstone  and  carves  the  poor  thing's 
initials  on  it.  He  does  this  at  once  because  he  thinks 
it  is  what  real  boys  would  do,  and  you  must  have 
noticed  the  little  stones  and  that  there  are  always 
two  together.  He  puts  them  in  twos  because  it  seems 
less  lonely.  I  think  that  quite  the  most  touching 
sight  in  the  Gardens  is  the  two  tombstones  of  Wal- 
ter Stephen  Matthews  and  Phoebe  Phelps.  They 
stand  together  at  the  spot  where  the  parishes  of 
Westminster  St.  Mary's  is  said  to  meet  the  parish 
of  Paddington.  Here  Peter  found  the  two  babes, 
who  had  fallen  unnoticed  from  their  perambulators, 
Phoebe  aged  thirteen  months  and  Walter  probably 
still  younger,  for  Peter  seems  to  have  felt  a  deli- 
cacy about  putting  any  age  on  his  stone.  Thej 
251 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

lie  side  by  side,  and  the  simple  inscriptions  read 


and 


David  sometimes  places  white  flowers  on  these  two 
innocent  graves. 

But  how  strange  for  parents,  when  they  hurry 
into  the  Gardens  at  the  opening  of  the  gates  look- 
ing for  their  lost  one,  to  find  the  sweetest  little 
tombstone  instead.  I  do  hope  that  Peter  is  not 
too  ready  with  his  spade.  It  is  all  rather  sad. 


252 


XIX 

AN    INTERLOPER 

UAVID  and  I  had  a  tremendous  adventure.  It 
was  this,  he  passed  the  night  with  me.  We  had 
often  talked  of  it  as  a  possible  thing,  and  at  last 
Mary  consented  to  our  having  it. 

The  adventure  began  with  David's  coming  to 
me  at  the  unwonted  hour  of  six  p.m.,  carrying  what 
looked  like  a  packet  of  sandwiches,  but  proved  to 
be  his  requisites  for  the  night  done  up  in  a  neat 
paper  parcel.  We  were  both  so  excited  that,  at  the 
moment  of  greeting,  neither  of  us  could  be  ap- 
posite to  the  occasion  in  words,  so  we  communi- 
cated our  feelings  by  signs;  as  thus,  David  half 
sat  down  in  a  place  where  there  was  no  chair,  which 
is  his  favourite  preparation  for  being  emphatic, 
and  is  borrowed,  I  think,  from  the  frogs,  and  we 
then  made  the  extraordinary  faces  which  mean, 
"What  a  tremendous  adventure!" 

We  were  to  do  all  the  important  things  precisely 
253 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

as  they  are  done  every  evening  at  his  own  home, 
and  so  I  am  in  a  puzzle  to  know  how  it  was  such 
an  adventure  to  David.  But  I  have  now  said 
enough  to  show  you  what  an  adventure  it  was  to 
me. 

For  a  little  while  we  played  with  my  two  medals, 
and?  with  the  delicacy  of  a  sleeping  companion, 
David  abstained  on  this  occasion  from  asking  why 
one  of  them  was  not  a  Victoria  Cross.  He  is  very 
troubled  because  I  never  won  the  Victoria  Cross, 
for  it  lowers  his  status  in  the  Gardens.  He  never 
says  in  the  Gardens  that  I  won  it,  but  he  fights 
any  boy  of  his  year  who  says  I  didn't.  Their  fight- 
ing consists  of  challenging  each  other. 

At  twenty-five  past  six  I  turned  on  the  hot 
water  in  the  bath,  and  covertly  swallowed  a  small 
glass  of  brandy.  I  then  said,  "Half-past  six ;  time 
for  little  boys  to  be  in  bed."  I  said  it  in  the  matter- 
of-fact  voice  of  one  made  free  of  the  company  of 
parents,  as  if  I  had  said  it  often  before,  and  would 
have  to  say  it  often  again,  and  as  if  there  was 
nothing  particularly  delicious  to  me  in  hearing 
myself  say  it.  I  tried  to  say  it  in  that  way. 
254 


AN    INTERLOPER 

And  David  was  deceived.  To  my  exceeding  joy 
he  stamped  his  little  foot,  and  was  so  naughty  that, 
in  gratitude,  I  gave  him  five  minutes  with  a  match- 
box. Matches,  which  he  drops  on  the  floor  when 
lighted,  are  the  greatest  treat  you  can  give  David ; 
indeed,  I  think  his  private  heaven  is  a  place  with 
a  roaring  bonfire. 

Then  I  placed  my  hand  carelessly  on  his  shoul- 
der, like  one  a  trifle  bored  by  the  dull  routine  of 
putting  my  httle  boys  to  bed,  and  conducted  him 
to  the  night  nursery,  which  had  lately  been  my 
private  chamber.  There  was  an  extra  bed  in  it  to- 
night, very  near  my  own,  but  differently  shaped, 
and  scarcely  less  conspicuous  was  the  new  mantel- 
shelf ornament:  a  tumbler  of  milk,  with  a  biscuit 
on  top  of  it,  and  a  chocolate  riding  on  the  biscuit. 
To  enter  the  room  without  seeing  the  tumbler  at 
once  was  impossible.  I  had  tried  it  several  times, 
and  David  saw  and  promptly  did  his  frog  busi- 
ness, the  while,  with  an  indescribable  emotion,  I 
produced  a  night-light  from  my  pocket  and 
planted  it  in  a  saucer  on  the  wash-stand. 

David  watched  my  preparations  with  distaste- 
255 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

f ul  levity,  but  anon  made  a  noble  amend  by  abrupt- 
ly offering  me  his  foot  as  if  he  had  no  longer  use 
for  it,  and  I  knew  by  intuition  that  he  expected 
me  to  take  off  his  boots.  I  took  them  off  with  all 
the  coolness  of  an  old  hand,  and  then  I  placed  him 
on  my  knee  and  removed  his  blouse.  This  was  a 
delightful  experience,  but  I  think  I  remained  won- 
derfully calm  until  I  came  somewhat  too  suddenly 
to  his  little  braces,  which  agitated  me  profoundly. 

I  cannot  proceed  in  public  with  the  disrobing  of 
David. 

Soon  the  night  nursery  was  in  darkness,  but  for 
the  glimmer  from  the  night-light,  and  very  still 
save  when  the  door  creaked  as  a  man  peered  in  at 
the  little  figure  on  the  bed.  However  softly  I 
opened  the  door,  an  inch  at  a  time,  his  bright  eyes 
turned  to  me  at  once,  and  he  always  made  the  face 
which  means,  "What  a  tremendous  adventure!" 

"Are  you  never  to  fall  asleep,  David  .'*"  I  always 
said. 

"When  are  you  coming  to  bed?"  he  always  re- 
plied, very  brave  but  in  a  whisper,  as  if  he  feared 
the  bears  and  wolves  might  have  him.  When  little 
256 


AN    INTERLOPER 

boys  are  In  bed  there  is  nothing  between  them  and 
bears  and  wolves  but  the  night-light. 

I  returned  to  my  chair  to  think,  and  at  last  he 
fell  asleep  with  his  face  to  the  wall,  but  even  then 
I  stood  many  times  at  the  door,  listening. 

Long  after  I  had  gone  to  bed  a  sudden  silence 
filled  the  chamber,  and  I  knew  that  David  had 
awaked.  I  lay  motionless,  and,  after  what  seemed 
a  long  time  of  waiting,  a  little  far-away  voice  said 
in  a  cautious  whisper,  "Irene!" 

"You  are  sleeping  with  me  to-night,  you  know, 
David,"  I  said. 

"I  didn't  know,"  he  replied,  a  little  troubled  but 
trying  not  to  be  a  nuisance. 

"You  remember  you  are  with  me.'*"  I  asked. 

After  a  moment's  hesitation  he  replied,  "I  near- 
ly remember,"  and  presently  he  added  very  grate- 
fully, as  if  to  some  angel  who  had  whispered  to 
him,  "I  remember  now." 

I  think  he  had  nigh  fallen  asleep  again  when 
he  stirred  and  said,  "Is  it  going  on  now.'"' 

"What?" 

"The  adventure." 

257 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

*^Yes,  David." 

Perhaps  this  disturbed  him,  for  by-and-by  I 
had  to  inquire,  "You  are  not  frightened,  are  you?" 

"Am  I  not?"  he  answered  poHtely,  and  I  knew 
his  hand  was  groping  in  the  darkness,  so  I  put 
out  mine  and  he  held  on  tightly  to  one  finger. 

"I  am  not  frightened  now,"  he  whispered. 

"And  there  is  nothing  else  you  want?" 

"Is  there  not?"  he  again  asked  politely.  "Are 
you  sure  there's  not?"  he  added. 

"What  can  it  be,  David?" 

"I  don't  take  up  very  much  room,"  the  far-away 
voice  saido 

"Why,  David,"  said  I,  sitting  up,  "do  you  want 
to  come  into  my  bed?" 

"Mother  said  I  wasn't  to  want  it  unless  you 
wanted  it  first,"  he  squeaked. 

"It  is  what  I  have  been  wanting  all  the  time," 
said  I,  and  then  without  more  ado  the  little  white 
figure  rose  and  flung  itself  at  me.  For  the  rest  of 
the  night  he  lay  on  me  and  across  me,  and  some- 
times his  feet  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  bed  and 
sometimes  on  the  pillow,  but  he  always  retained 
25S 


AN    INTERLOPER 

possession  of  my  finger,  and  occasionally  he  woke 
me  to  say  that  he  was  sleeping  with  me.  I  had  not 
a  good  night.  I  lay  thinking. 

Of  this  little  boy,  who.  In  the  midst  of  his  play 
while  I  undressed  him,  had  suddenly  buried  his 
head  on  my  knees. 

Of  the  woman  who  had  been  for  him  who  could 
be  sufficiently  daring. 

Of  David's  dripping  little  form  in  the  bath,  and 
how  when  I  essayed  to  catch  him  he  had  slipped 
from  my  arms  like  a  trout. 

Of  how  I  had  stood  by  the  open  door  listening 
to  his  sweet  breathing,  had  stood  so  long  that  I 
forgot  his  name  and  called  him  Timothy. 


259 


XX 

DAVID   AND    PORTHOS    COMPARED 

JiUT  Mary  spoilt  it  all,  when  I  sent  David  back 
to  her  in  the  morning,  by  inquiring  too  curiously 
into  his  person  and  discovering  that  I  had  put  his 
combinations  on  him  with  the  buttons  to  the  front. 
For  this  I  wrote  her  the  following  insulting  letter. 
When  Mary  does  anything  that  specially  annoys 
me  I  send  her  an  insulting  letter.  I  once  had  a 
photograph  taken  of  David  being  hanged  on  a 
tree.  I  sent  her  that.  You  can't  think  of  all  the 
subtle  ways  of  grieving  her  I  have.  No  woman  with 
the  spirit  of  a  crow  would  stand  it.  ^ 

"Dear  Madam  [I  wrote],  It  has  come  to  my 
knowledge  that  when  you  walk  in  the  Gardens  with 
the  boy  David  you  listen  avidly  for  encomiums  of 
him  and  of  your  fanciful  dressing  of  him  by  pass- 
ers-by, storing  them  in  your  heart  the  while  you 
make  vain  pretence  to  regard  them  not :  wherefore 
lest  you  be  swollen  by  these  very  small  things  I, 
260 


DAVID    AND    PORTHOS 

who  now  know  David  both  by  day  and  by  night, 
am  minded  to  compare  him  and  Porthos  the  one 
with  the  other,  both  in  this  matter  and  in  other 
matters  of  graver  account.  And  touching  this  mat- 
ter of  outward  show,  they  are  both  very  lordly, 
and  neither  of  them  likes  it  to  be  referred  to,  but 
they  endure  in  different  ways.  For  David  says  'Oh, 
bother!'  and  even  at  times  hits  out,  but  Porthos 
droops  his  tail  and  lets  them  have  their  say.  Yet  is 
he  extolled  as  beautiful  and  a  darling  ten  times  for 
the  once  that  David  is  extolled. 

"The  manners  of  Porthos  are  therefore  prettier 
than  the  manners  of  David,  who  when  he  has  sent 
me  to  hide  from  him  behind  a  tree  sometimes  comes 
not  in  search,  and  on  emerging  tamely  from  my 
concealment  I  find  him  playing  other  games  en- 
tirely forgetful  of  my  existence.  Whereas  Porthos 
always  comes  in  search.  Also  if  David  wearies  of 
you  he  scruples  not  to  say  so,  but  Porthos,  in  like 
circumstances,  offers  you  his  paw,  meaning  'Fare- 
well,' and  to  bearded  men  he  does  this  all  the  time 
(I  think  because  of  a  hereditary  distaste  for 
goats),  so  that  they  conceive  him  to  be  enamoured 
261 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

of  them  when  he  is  only  begging  them  courteously 
to  go.  Thus  while  the  manners  of  Porthos  are  more 
polite  it  may  be  argued  that  those  of  David  are 
more  efficacious. 

"In  gentleness  David  compares  ill  with  Porthos. 
For  whereas  the  one  shoves  and  has  been  known  to 
kick  on  slight  provocation,  the  other,  who  is  noisily 
hated  of  all  small  dogs  by  reason  of  his  size,  remon- 
strates not,  even  when  they  cling  in  froth  and  fury 
to  his  chest,  but  carries  them  along  tolerantly 
until  they  drop  off  from  fatigue.  Again,  David 
will  not  unbend  when  in  the  company  of  babies, 
expecting  them  unreasonably  to  rise  to  his  level, 
but  contrariwise  Porthos,  though  terrible  to 
tramps,  suffers  all  things  of  babies,  even  to  an  ex- 
ploration of  his  mouth  in  an  attempt  to  discover 
what  his  tongue  is  like  at  the  other  end.  The  com- 
ings and  goings  of  David  are  unnoticed  by  peram- 
bulators, which  lie  in  wait  for  the  advent  of 
Porthos.  The  strong  and  wicked  fear  Porthos  but 
no  little  creature  fears  him,  not  the  hedgehogs  he 
conveys  from  place  to  place  in  his  mouth,  nor  the 
sparrows  that  steal  his  straw  from  under  him. 
262 


DAVID    AND    PORTHOS 

"In  proof  of  which  gentleness  I  adduce  his  ad- 
Yenture  with  the  rabbit.  Having  gone  for  a  time  to 
reside  in  a  rabbit  country  Porthos  was  elated  to 
discover  at  last  something  small  that  ran  from  him, 
and  developing  at  once  into  an  ecstatic  sportsman 
he  did  pound  hotly  in  pursuit,  though  always  over- 
shooting the  mark  by  a  hundred  yards  or  so  and 
wondering  very  much  what  had  become  of  the  rab- 
bit. There  was  a  steep  path,  from  the  top  of  which 
the  rabbit  suddenly  came  into  view,  and  the  prac- 
tice of  Porthos  was  to  advance  up  it  on  tiptoe, 
turning  near  the  summit  to  give  me  a  knowing 
look  and  then  bounding  forward.  The  rabbit  here 
did  something  tricky  with  a  hole  in  the  ground, 
but  Porthos  tore  onwards  in  full  faith  that  the 
game  was  being  played  fairly,  and  always  re- 
turned panting  and  puzzling  but  glorious. 

"I  sometimes  shuddered  to  think  of  his  perplex- 
ity should  he  catch  the  rabbit,  which  however  was 
extremely  unlikely;  nevertheless  he  did  catch  it,  I 
know  not  how,  but  presume  it  to  have  been  another 
than  the  one  of  which  he  was  in  chase.  I  found 
him  with  it,  his  brows  furrowed  in  the  deepest 
26S 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

thought.  The  rabbit,  terrified  but  uninjured,  cow- 
ered beneath  him.  Porthos  gave  me  a  happy  look 
and  again  dropped  into  a  weighty  frame  of  mind. 
'What  is  the  next  thing  one  does.?'  was  obviously 
the  puzzle  with  him,  and  the  position  was  scarcely 
less  awkward  for  the  rabbit,  which  several  times 
made  a  move  to  end  this  intolerable  suspense. 
Whereupon  Porthos  immediately  gave  it  a  warning 
tap  with  his  foot,  and  again  fell  to  pondering.  The 
strain  on  me  was  very  great. 

"At  last  they  seemed  to  hit  upon  a  compromise. 
Porthos  looked  over  his  shoulder  very  self-con- 
sciously, and  the  rabbit  at  first  slowly  and  then  in 
a  flash  withdrew.  Porthos  pretended  to  make  a 
search  for  it,  but  you  cannot  think  how  relieved  he 
looked.  He  even  tried  to  brazen  out  his  disgrace 
before  me  and  waved  his  tail  appeallngly.  But  he 
could  not  look  me  In  the  face,  and  when  he  saw  that 
this  was  what  I  Insisted  on  he  collapsed  at  my  feet 
and  moaned.  There  were  real  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
I  was  touched,  and  swore  to  him  that  he  had  done 
everything  a  dog  could  do,  and  though  he  knew 
I  was  lying  he  became  happy  again.  For  so  long  as 
264 


I 


DAVID    AND    PORTHOS 

I  am  pleased  with  him,  ma'am,  nothing  else  greatly 
matters  to  Porthos.  I  told  this  story  to  David,  hav- 
ing first  extracted  a  promise  from  him  that  he 
would  not  think  the  less  of  Porthos,  and  now  I 
must  demand  the  same  promise  of  you.  Also,  an 
admission  that  in  innocence  of  heart,  for  which 
David  has  been  properly  commended,  he  can  never- 
theless teach  Porthos  nothing,  but  on  the  contrary 
may  learn  much  from  him. 

"And  now  to  come  to  those  qualities  in  which 
David  excels  over  Porthos — the  first  is  that  he  is 
no  snob  but  esteems  the  girl  Irene  (pretentiously 
called  his  nurse)  more  than  any  fine  lady,  and  en- 
vies every  ragged  boy  who  can  hit  to  leg.  Whereas 
Porthos  would  have  every  class  keep  its  place,  and 
though  fond  of  going  down  into  the  kitchen,  al- 
ways barks  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  for  a  servile  in- 
vitation before  he  graciously  descends.  Most  of  the 
servants  in  our  street  have  had  the  loan  of  him  to 
be  photographed  with,  and  I  have  but  now  seen 
him  stalking  off  for  that  purpose  with  a  proud 
little  housemaid  who  is  looking  up  to  him  as  if  he 
were  a  warrior  for  whom  she  had  paid  a  shilling. 
265 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

"Again,  when  David  and  Porthos  are  in  their 
bath,  praise  is  due  to  the  one  and  must  be  withheld 
from  the  other.  For  David,  as  I  have  noticed,  loves 
to  splash  in  his  bath  and  to  slip  back  into  it  from 
the  hands  that  would  transfer  him  to  a  towel. 
But  Porthos  stands  in  his  bath  drooping  ab- 
jectly like  a  shamed  figure  cut  out  of  some  limp 
material. 

"Furthermore,  the  inventiveness  of  David  is  be- 
yond that  of  Porthos,  who  cannot  play  by  himself, 
and  knows  not  even  how  to  take  a  solitary  walk, 
while  David  invents  playfully  all  day  long.  Lastly, 
when  David  is  discovered  of  some  offence  and  ex- 
presses sorrow  therefor,  he  does  that  thing  no  more 
for  a  time,  but  looks  about  him  for  other  offences, 
whereas  Porthos  incontinently  repeats  his  offence, 
in  other  words,  he  again  buries  his  bone  in  the  back- 
yard, and  marvels  greatly  that  I  know  it,  although 
his  nose  be  crusted  with  earth. 

"Touching  these   matters,  therefore,  let  it  be 

granted  that  David  excels  Porthos;  and  in  divers 

similar  qualities  the  one  is  no  more  than  a  match 

for  the  other,  as  in  the  quality  of  curiosity ;  for,  if 

266 


DAVID    AND    PORTHOS 

a  parcel  cCmes  into  my  chambers  Porthos  is  mis- 
erable until  it  is  opened,  and  I  have  noticed  the 
same  thing  of  David. 

"Also  there  is  the  taking  of  medicine.  For  at 
production  of  the  vial  all  gaiety  suddenly  departs 
from  Porthos  and  he  looks  the  other  way,  but  if  I 
say  I  have  forgotten  to  have  the  vial  refilled  he 
skips  joyfully,  yet  thinks  he  still  has  a  right  to  a 
chocolate,  and  when  I  remarked  disparagingly  on 
this  to  David  he  looked  so  shy  that  there  was  re- 
vealed to  me  a  picture  of  a  certain  lady  treating 
him  for  youthful  maladies. 

"A  thing  to  be  considered  of  in  both  is  their  re- 
ceiving of  punishments,  and  I  am  now  reminded 
that  the  girl  Irene  (whom  I  take  in  this  matter  to 
be  your  mouthpiece)  complains  that  I  am  not  suf- 
ficiently severe  with  David,  and  do  leave  the  chid- 
ing of  him  for  offences  against  myself  to  her  in 
the  hope  that  he  will  love  her  less  and  me  more 
thereby.  Which  we  have  hotly  argued  in  the  Gar- 
dens to  the  detriment  of  our  dignity.  And  I  here 
say  that  if  I  am  slow  to  be  severe  to  David,  the 
reason  thereof  is  that  I  dare  not  be  severe  to  Por- 
267 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

thos,  and  I  have  ever  sought  to  treat  the  one  the 
same  with  the  other. 

"Now  I  refrain  from  raising  hand  or  voice  to 
Porthos  because  his  great  heart  is  nigh  to  break- 
ing if  he  so  much  as  suspects  that  all  is  not  well 
between  him  and  me,  and  having  struck  him  once 
some  years  ago  never  can  I  forget  the  shudder 
which  passed  through  him  when  he  saw  it  was  I 
who  had  struck,  and  I  shall  strike  him,  ma'am,  no 
more.  But  when  he  is  detected  in  any  unseemly  act 
now,  it  is  my  stern  practice  to  cane  my  writing 
table  in  his  presence,  and  even  this  punishment  is 
almost  more  than  he  can  bear.  Wherefore  if  such 
chastisement  inflicted  on  David  encourages  him  but 
to  enter  upon  fresh  trespasses  (as  the  girl  Irene 
avers),  the  reason  must  be  that  his  heart  is  not  like 
unto  that  of  the  noble  Porthos. 

"And  if  you  retort  that  David  is  naturally  a  de- 
praved little  boy,  and  so  demands  harsher  measure, 
I  have  still  my  answer,  to  wit,  what  is  the  manner 
of  severity  meted  out  to  him  at  home?  And  lest 
you  should  shuffle  in  your  reply  I  shall  mention  a 
notable  passage  that  has  come  to  my  ears. 
268 


DAVID    AND    PORTHOS 

"As  thus,  that  David  having  heard  a  horrid 
word  in  the  street,  uttered  it  with  unction  in  the 
home.  That  the  mother  threatened  corporal  punish- 
ment, whereat  the  father  trembhngly  intervened. 
That  David  continuing  to  rejoice  exceedingly  in 
his  word,  the  father  spoke  darkly  of  a  cane,  but  the 
mother  rushed  between  the  combatants.  That  the 
problematical  chastisement  became  to  David  an  ob- 
ject of  romantic  interest.  That  this  darkened  the 
happy  home.  That  casting  from  his  path  a  weeping 
mother,  the  goaded  father  at  last  dashed  from  the 
house  yelling  that  he  was  away  to  buy  a  cane.  That 
he  merely  walked  the  streets  white  to  the  lips  be- 
cause of  the  terror  David  must  now  be  feeling.  And 
that  when  he  returned,  it  was  David  radiant  with 
hope  who  opened  the  door  and  then  burst  into  tears 
because  there  was  no  cane.  Truly,  ma'am,  you  are 
a  fitting  person  to  tax  me  with  want  of  severity. 
Rather  should  you  be  giving  thanks  that  it  is  not 
you  I  am  comparing  with  Porthos. 

"But  to  make  an  end  of  this  comparison,  I  men- 
tion that  Porthos  is  ever  wishful  to  express  grat- 
itude for  my  kindness  to  him,  so  that  looking  up 
2G9 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

from  my  book  I  see  his  mournful  eyes  fixed  upon 
me  with  a  passionate  attachment,  and  then  I  know 
that  the  well-nigh  unbearable  sadness  which  comes 
into  the  face  of  dogs  is  because  they  cannot  say 
Thank  you  to  their  masters.  Whereas  David  takes 
my  kindness  as  his  right.  But  for  this,  while  I 
should  chide  him  I  cannot  do  so,  for  of  all  the  ways 
David  has  of  making  me  to  love  him  the  most 
poignant  is  that  he  expects  it  of  me  as  a  matter  of 
course.  David  is  all  for  fun,  but  none  may  plumb 
the  depths  of  Porthos.  Nevertheless  I  am  most 
nearly  doing  so  when  I  lie  down  beside  him  on  the 
floor  and  he  puts  an  arm  about  my  neck.  On  my 
soul,  ma'am,  a  protecting  arm.  At  such  times  it  is 
as  if  each  of  us  knew  what  was  the  want  of  the 
other. 

"Thus  weighing  Porthos  with  David  it  were 
hard  to  tell  which  is  the  worthier.  Wherefore  do 
you  keep  your  boy  while  I  keep  my  dog,  and  so 
we  shall  both  be  pleased." 


270 


XXI 

WILLIAM    PATERSON 

W  E  had  been  together,  we  three,  in  my  rooms, 
David  telling  me  about  the  fairy  language  and 
Porthos  lolling  on  the  sofa  listening,  as  one  may 
say.  It  is  his  favourite  place  of  a  dull  day,  and 
under  him  were  some  sheets  of  newspaper,  which  I 
spread  there  at  such  times  to  deceive  my  house- 
keeper, who  thinks  dogs  should  lie  on  the  floor. 

Fairy  me  tribher  is  what  you  say  to  the  fairies 
when  you  want  them  to  give  you  a  cup  of  tea,  but 
it  is  not  so  easy  as  it  looks,  for  all  the  r^s  should 
be  pronounced  as  w'5,  and  I  forget  this  so  often 
that  David  believes  I  should  find  difficulty  in  mak- 
ing myself  understood. 

"What  would  you  say,"  he  asked  me,  "if  you 
wanted  them  to  turn  you  into  a  hollyhock?"  He 
thinks  the  ease  with  which  they  can  turn  you  into 
things  is  their  most  engaging  quality. 

The  answer  is  Fairy  me  luJcka,  but  though  he 
had  often  told  me  this  I  again  forgot  the  hikJca. 
271 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

"I  should  never  dream,"  I  said  (to  cover  my  dis- 
comfiture), "of  asking  them  to  turn  me  into  any- 
thing. If  I  was  a  hollyhock  I  should  soon  wither, 
David." 

He  himself  had  provided  me  with  this  objection 
not  long  before,  but  now  he  seemed  to  think  it 
merely  silly.  "Just  before  the  time  to  wither  be- 
gins," he  said  airily,  "you  say  to  them  Fairy  me 

hour 

Fairy  me  hola  means  "Turn  me  back  again," 
and  David's  discovery  made  me  uncomfortable,  for 
I  knew  he  had  hitherto  kept  his  distance  of  the 
fairies  mainly  because  of  a  feeling  that  their  con- 
versions are  permanent. 

So  I  returned  him  to  his  home.  I  send  him  home 
from  my  rooms  under  the  care  of  Porthos.  I  may 
walk  on  the  other  side  unknown  to  them,  but  they 
have  no  need  of  me,  for  at  such  times  nothing  would 
induce  Porthos  to  depart  from  the  care  of  David. 
If  anyone  addresses  them  he  growls  softly  and 
shows  the  teeth  that  crunch  bones  as  if  they  were 
biscuits.  Thus  amicably  the  two  pass  on  to  Mary's 
house,  where  Porthos  barks  his  knock-and-ring 
272 


i 


WILLIAM    PATERSON 

bark  till  the  door  is  opened.  Sometimes  he  goes  In 
with  David,  but  on  this  occasion  he  said  good-bje 
on  the  step.  Nothing  remarkable  in  tliis,  but  he 
did  not  return  to  me,  not  that  day  nor  next  day 
nor  in  weeks  and  months.  I  was  a  man  distraught; 
and  David  wore  his  knuckles  in  his  eyes.  Conceive 
it,  we  had  lost  our  dear  Porthos — at  least — well — 
something  disquieting  happened.  I  don't  quite 
know  what  to  think  of  it  even  now.  I  know  what 
David  thinks.  However,  you  shall  think  as  you 
choose. 

My  first  hope  was  that  Porthos  had  strolled  to 
the  Gardens  and  got  locked  in  for  the  night,  and 
almost  as  soon  as  Lock-out  was  over  I  was  there  to 
make  inquiries.  But  there  was  no  news  of  Porthos, 
though  I  learned  that  someone  was  believed  to  have 
spent  the  night  in  the  Gardens,  a  young  gentleman 
who  walked  out  hastily  the  moment  the  gates  were 
opened.  He  had  said  nothing,  however,  of  having 
seen  a  dog.  I  feared  an  accident  now,  for  I  knew 
no  thief  could  steal  him,  yet  even  an  accident 
seemed  incredible,  he  was  always  so  cautious  at 
crossings;  also  there  could  not  possibly  have  been 
273 


THE   LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

an  accident  to  Porthos  without  there  being  an  acci- 
dent to  something  else. 

David  in  the  middle  of  his  games  would  suddenly 
remember  the  great  blank  and  step  aside  to  cry. 
It  was  one  of  his  qualities  that  when  he  knew  he 
was  about  to  cry  he  turned  aside  to  do  it  and  I 
always  respected  his  privacy  and  waited  for  liim. 
Of  course  being  but  a  little  boy  he  was  soon  playing 
again,  but  his  sudden  floods  of  feeling,  of  which  we 
never  spoke,  were  dear  to  me  in  those  desolate  days. 

We  had  a  favourite  haunt,  called  the  Story-seat, 
and  we  went  back  to  that,  meaning  not  to  look  at 
the  grass  near  it  where  Porthos  used  to  squat,  but 
we  could  not  help  looking  at  it  sideways,  and  to  our 
distress  a  man  was  sitting  on  the  acquainted  spot. 
He  rose  at  our  approach  and  took  two  steps  toward 
us,  so  quick  that  they  were  almost  jumps,  then  as 
he  saw  that  we  were  passing  indignantly  I  thought 
I  heard  him  give  a  little  cry. 

I  put  him  down  for  one  of  your  garrulous  fellows 

who  try  to  lure  strangers  into  talk,  but  next  day, 

when  we  found  him  sitting  on  the  Story-seat  itself, 

I  had  a  longer  scrutiny  of  him.  He  was  dandiacally 

274. 


WILLIAM   PATERSON 

dressed,  seemed  to  tell  something  under  twenty 
years  and  had  a  handsome  wistful  face  atop  of  a 
heavy,  lumbering,  almost  corpulent  figure,  which 
however  did  not  betoken  inactivity;  for  David's 
purple  hat  (a  conceit  of  his  mother's  of  which  we 
were  both  heartily  ashamed)  blowing  off  as  we 
neared  him  he  leapt  the  railings  without  touching 
them  and  was  back  with  it  in  three  seconds;  only 
instead  of  delivering  it  straightway  he  seemed  to 
expect  David  to  chase  him  for  it. 

You  have  introduced  yourself  to  David  when  you 
jump  the  railings  without  touching  them,  and  Will- 
iam Paterson  (as  proved  to  be  his  name)  was  at 
once  our  friend.  We  often  found  him  waiting  for 
us  at  the  Story-seat,  and  the  great  stout  fellow 
laughed  and  wept  over  our  tales  like  a  three-year- 
old.  Often  he  said  with  extraordinary  pride,  "You 
are  telling  the  story  to  me  quite  as  much  as  to 
David,  ar'n't  you.'^"  He  was  of  an  innocence  such 
as  you  shall  seldom  encounter,  and  believed  stories 
at  which  even  David  blinked.  Often  he  looked  at  me 
in  quick  alarm  if  David  said  that  of  course  these 
things  did  not  really  happen,  and  unable  to  resist 
275 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

that  appeal  I  would  reply  that  they  really  did.  I 
never  saw  him  irate  except  when  David  was  still 
sceptical,  but  then  he  would  say  quite  warningly 
*^He  says  it  is  true,  so  it  must  be  true."  This  brings 
me  to  that  one  of  his  qualities,  which  at  once  grati- 
fied and  pained  me,  his  admiration  for  myself.  His 
eyes,  which  at  times  had  a  rim  of  red,  were  ever 
fixed  upon  me  fondly  except  perhaps  when  I  told 
him  of  Porthos  and  said  that  death  alone  could 
have  kept  him  so  long  from  my  side.  Then 
Paterson's  sympathy  was  such  that  he  had  to 
look  away.  He  was  shy  of  speaking  of  himself  so 
I  asked  him  no  personal  questions,  but  concluded 
that  his  upbringing  must  have  been  lonely,  to 
account  for  his  ignorance  of  affairs,  and  loveless, 
else  how  could  he  have  felt  such  a  drawing  to  me? 
I  remember  very  well  the  day  when  the  strange, 
and  surely  monstrous,  suspicion  first  made  my  head 
tingle.  We  had  been  blown,  the  three  of  us,  to  my 
rooms  by  a  gust  of  rain ;  it  was  also,  I  think,  the 
first  time  Paterson  had  entered  them.  "Take  the 
sofa,  Mr.  Paterson,"  I  said,  as  I  drew  a  chair 
nearer  to  the  fire^  and  for  the  moment  my  eyes  were 
276 


I 


WILLIAM    PATERSON 

off  him.  Then  I  saw  that,  before  sitting  down  on 
the  sofa,  he  was  spreading  the  day's  paper  over  it. 
"Whatever  makes  you  do  that?"  I  asked,  and  he 
started  like  one  bewildered  by  the  question,  then 
went  white  and  pushed  the  paper  aside. 

David  had  noticed  nothing,  but  I  was  strangely 
uncomfortable,  and,  despite  my  efforts  at  talk, 
often  lapsed  into  silence,  to  be  roused  from  it  by 
a  feeling  that  Paterson  was  looking  at  me  covertly. 
Pooh !  what  vapours  of  the  imagination  were  these. 
I  blew  them  from  me,  and  to  prove  to  myself,  so 
to  speak,  that  they  were  dissipated,  I  asked  him  to 
see  David  home.  As  soon  as  I  was  alone,  I  flung 
me  down  on  the  floor  laughing,  then  as  quickly 
jumped  up  and  was  after  them,  and  very  sober 
too,  for  it  was  come  to  me  abruptly  as  an  odd  thing 
that  Paterson  had  set  off^  without  asking  where 
David  lived. 

Seeing  them  in  front  of  me,  I  crossed  the  street 
and  followed.  They  were  walking  side  by  side 
rather  solemnly,  and  perhaps  nothing  remarkable 
happened  until  they  reached  David's  door.  I  say 
perhaps,  for  something  did  occur.  A  lady,  who  has 
277 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

several  pretty  reasons  for  frequenting  the  Gardens, 
recognised  David  in  the  street,  and  was  stooping  to 
address  him,  when  Paterson  did  something  that 
alarmed  her.  I  was  too  far  off  to  see  what  it  was, 
but  had  he  growled  "Hands  off!"  she  could  not 
have  scurried  away  more  precipitately.  He  then 
ponderously  marched  his  charge  to  the  door,  where, 
assuredly,  he  did  a  strange  thing.  Instead  of  knock- 
ing or  ringing,  he  stood  on  the  step  and  called  out 
sharply,  "Hie,  hie,  hie !"  until  the  door  was  opened. 

The  whimsy,  for  it  could  be  nothing  more,  cur- 
tailed me  of  my  sleep  that  night,  and  you  may  pict- 
ure me  trying  both  sides  of  the  pillow. 

I  recalled  other  queer  things  of  Paterson,  and 
they  came  back  to  me  charged  with  new  meanings. 
There  was  his  way  of  shaking  hands.  He  now  did 
it  in  the  ordinary  way,  but  when  first  we  knew  him 
his  arm  had  described  a  circle,  and  the  hand  had 
sometimes  missed  mine  and  come  heavily  upon  my 
chest  instead.  His  walk,  again,  might  more  cor- 
rectly have  been  called  a  waddle. 

There  were  his  perfervid  thanks.  He  seldom  de- 
parted without  thanking  me  with  an  intensity  that 
278 


WILLIAM    PATERSON 

was  out  of  proportion  to  the  little  I  had  done  for 
him.  In  the  Gardens,  too,  he  seemed  ever  to  take 
the  sward  rather  than  the  seats,  perhaps  a  wise 
preference,  but  he  had  an  unusual  way  of  sitting 
down.  I  can  describe  it  only  by  saying  that  he  let 
go  of  himself  and  went  down  with  a  thud. 

I  reverted  to  the  occasion  when  he  lunched  with 
me  at  the  Club.  We  had  cutlets,  and  I  noticed  that 
he  ate  his  in  a  somewhat  finicking  manner ;  yet  hav- 
ing left  the  table  for  a  moment  to  consult  the 
sweets-card,  I  saw,  when  I  returned,  that  there  was 
now  no  bone  on  his  plate.  The  waiters  were  looking 
at  him  rather  curiously. 

David  was  very  partial  to  him,  but  showed  it 
in  a  somewhat  singular  manner,  used  to  pat  his 
head,  for  instance.  I  remembered,  also,  that  while 
David  shouted  to  me  or  Irene  to  attract  our  at- 
tention, he  usually  whistled  to  Paterson,  he  could 
not  explain  why. 

These  ghosts  made  me  to  sweat  in  bed,  not  merely 

that  night,  but  often  when  some  new  shock  brought 

them  back  in  force,  yet,  unsupported,  they  would 

have  disturbed  me  little  by  day.  Day,  however,  had 

279 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

its  reflections,  and  they  came  to  me  while  I  was 
shaving,  that  ten  minutes  when,  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  harsher  reahties  of  Hfe,  we  see  things 
most  clearly  as  they  are.  Then  the  beautiful  nature 
of  Paterson  loomed  offensively,  and  his  honest  eyes 
insulted  over  me.  No  one  come  to  nigh  twenty  years 
had  a  right  to  such  faith  in  his  fellow-creatures. 
He  could  not  backbite,  nor  envy,  nor  prevaricate, 
nor  jump  at  mean  motives  for  generous  acts.  He 
had  not  a  single  base  story  about  women.  It  all 
seemed  inhuman. 

What  creatures  we  be!  I  was  more  than  half 
ashamed  of  Paterson's  faith  in  me,  but  when  I  saw 
it  begin  to  shrink  I  fought  for  it.  An  easy  task, 
you  may  say,  but  it  was  a  hard  one,  for  gradually 
a  change  had  come  over  the  youth.  I  am  now  ar- 
rived at  a  time  when  the  light-heartedness  had  gone 
out  of  him ;  he  had  lost  his  zest  for  fun,  and  dubiety 
sat  in  the  eyes  that  were  once  so  certain.  He  was 
not  doubtful  of  me,  not  then,  but  of  human  nature 
in  general ;  that  whilom  noble  edifice  was  tottering. 
He  mixed  with  boys  in  the  Gardens;  ah,  mothers, 
it  is  hard  to  say,  but  how  could  he  retain  his 
280 


WILLIAM    PATERSON 

innocence  when  he  had  mixed  with  boys?  He 
heard  jour  talk  of  yourselves,  and  so,  ladies,  that 
part  of  the  edifice  went  down.  I  hare  not  the  heart 
to  follow  him  in  all  his  discoveries.  Sometimes  he 
went  in  flame  at  them,  but  for  the  most  part  he 
stood  looking  on,  bewildered  and  numbed,  like  one 
moaning  inwardly. 

He  saw  all,  as  one  fresh  to  the  world,  before  he 
had  time  to  breathe  upon  the  glass.  So  would  your 
child  be,  madam,  if  born  with  a  man's  powers,  and 
when  disillusioned  of  all  else,  he  would  cling  for  a 
moment  longer  to  you,  the  woman  of  whom,  before 
he  saw  you,  he  had  heard  so  much.  How  you  would 
strive  to  cheat  him,  even  as  I  strove  to  hide  my  real 
self  from  Paterson,  and  still  you  would  strive  as 
I  strove  after  you  knew  the  game  was  up. 

The  sorrowful  eyes  of  Paterson  stripped  me 
bare.  There  were  days  when  I  could  not  endure 
looking  at  him,  though  surely  I  have  long  ceased 
to  be  a  vain  man.  He  still  met  us  in  the  Gardens, 
but  for  hours  he  and  I  would  be  together  without 
speaking.  It  was  so  upon  the  last  day,  one  of  those 
innumerable  dreary  days  when  David,  having 
281 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

sneezed  the  night  before,  was  kept  at  home  in  flan- 
nel, and  I  sat  alone  with  Paterson  on  the  Story- 
seat.  At  last  I  turned  to  address  him.  Never  had  we 
spoken  of  what  chained  our  tongues,  and  I  meant 
only  to  say  now  that  we  must  go,  for  soon  the  gates 
would  close,  but  when  I  looked  at  him  I  saw  that  he 
was  more  mournful  than  ever  before;  he  shut  his 
eyes  so  tightly  that  a  drop  of  blood  fell  from  them. 

"It  was  all  over,  Paterson,  long  ago,"  I  broke 
out  harshly,  "why  do  we  linger.?" 

He  beat  his  hands  together  miserably,  and  yet 
cast  me  appealing  looks  that  had  much  aff^ection 
in  them. 

"You  expected  too  much  of  me,"  I  told  him,  and 
he  bowed  his  head.  "I  don't  know  where  you 
brought  your  grand  ideas  of  men  and  women  from. 
I  don't  want  to  know,"  I  added  hastily. 

"But  it  must  have  been  from  a  prettier  world 
than  this,"  I  said:  "are  you  quite  sure  that  you 
were  wise  in  leaving  it?" 

He  rose  and  sat  down  again.  "I  wanted  to  know 
you,"  he  replied  slowly,  "I  wanted  to  be  like  you." 

"And  now  you  know  me,"  I  said,  "do  you  want 
282 


WILLIAM   PATERSON 

to  be  like  me  still?  I  am  a  curious  person  to  attach 
oneself  to,  Paterson ;  don't  you  see  that  even  David 
often  smiles  at  me  when  he  thinks  he  is  unobserved. 
I  work  very  hard  to  retain  that  little  boy's  love; 
but  I  shall  lose  him  soon ;  even  now  I  am  not  what 
I  was  to  him ;  in  a  year  or  two  at  longest,  Paterson, 
David  will  grow  out  of  me." 

The  poor  fellow  shot  out  his  hand  to  me,  but 
"No,"  said  I,  "you  have  found  me  out.  Everybody 
finds  me  out  except  my  dog,  and  that  is  why  the 
loss  of  him  makes  such  a  difference  to  me.  Shall  we 
go,  Paterson?" 

He  would  not  come  with  me,  and  I  left  him  on 
the  seat;  when  I  was  far  away  I  looked  back,  and 
)ie  was  still  sitting  there  forlornly. 

For  long  I  could  not  close  my  ears  that  night: 
I  lay  listening,!  knew  not  what  for.  A  scare  was  on 
me  that  made  me  dislike  the  dark,  and  I  switched 
on  the  light  and  slept  at  last.  I  was  roused  by  a 
great  to-do  in  the  early  morning,  servants  knock- 
ing excitedly,  and  my  door  opened,  and  the  dear 
Porthos  I  had  mourned  so  long  tore  in.  They  had 
heard  his  bark^  but  whence  he  came  no  one  knew, 
283 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

He  was  in  excellent  condition,  and  after  he  had 
leaped  upon  me  from  all  points  I  flung  him  on  the 
floor  by  a  trick  I  know,  and  lay  down  beside  him, 
while  he  put  his  protecting  arm  round  me  and 
looked  at  me  with  the  old  adoring  eyes. 

But  we  never  saw  Paterson  again.  You  may  think 
as  you  choose. 


904 


XXII 

JOEY 

W ISE  children  always  choose  a  mother  who 
was  a  shocking  flirt  in  her  maiden  days,  and  so 
had  several  offers  before  she  accepted  their  fortu- 
nate papa.  The  reason  they  do  this  is  because  every 
oifer  refused  by  their  mother  means  another  panto- 
mime to  them.  You  see  you  can't  trust  to  your 
father's  taking  you  to  the  pantomime,  but  you  can 
trust  to  every  one  of  the  poor  frenzied  gentlemen 
for  whom  that  lady  has  wept  a  delicious  little  tear 
on  her  lovely  little  cambric  handkerchief.  It  is 
pretty  (but  dreadfully  affecting)  to  see  them  on 
Boxing  Night  gathering  together  the  babies  of 
their  old  loves.  Some  knock  at  but  one  door  and 
bring  a  hansom,  but  others  go  from  street  to  street 
in  private  'buses,  and  even  wear  false  noses  to  con- 
ceal the  sufferings  you  inflict  upon  them  as  you 
grew  more  and  more  like  your  sweet  cruel  mamma. 
So  I  took  David  to  the  pantomime,  and  I  hope 
2S5 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

you  follow  my  reasoning,  for  I  don't.  He  went  with 
the  fairest  anticipations,  pausing  on  the  threshold 
to  peer  through  the  hole  in  the  little  house  called 
"Pay  Here,"  which  he  thought  was  Red  Riding 
Hood's  residence,  and  asked  politely  whether  he 
might  see  her,  but  they  said  she  had  gone  to  the 
wood,  and  it  was  quite  true,  for  there  she  was  in 
the  wood  gathering  a  stick  for  her  grandmother's 
fire.  She  sang  a  beautiful  song  about  the  Boys  and 
their  dashing  ways,  which  flattered  David  consid- 
erably, but  she  forgot  to  take  away  the  stick  after 
all.  Other  parts  of  the  play  were  not  so  nice,  but 
David  thought  it  all  lovely,  he  really  did. 

Yet  he  left  the  place  in  tears.  All  the  way  home 
he  sobbed  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  growler, 
and  if  I  tried  to  comfort  him  he  struck  me. 

The  clown  had  done  it,  that  man  of  whom  he 
expected  things  so  fair.  He  had  asked  in  a  loud 
voice  of  the  middling  funny  gentleman  (then  in  the 
middle  of  a  song)  whether  he  thought  Joey  would 
be  long  in  coming,  and  when  at  last  Joey  did  come 
he  screamed  out,  "How  do  you  do,  Joey !"  and  went 
into  convulsions  of  mirth. 
286 


JOEY 

Joey  and  his  father  were  shadowing  a  pork- 
butcher's  shop,  pocketing  the  sausages  for  which 
their  family  has  such  a  fatal  weakness,  and  so 
when  the  butcher  engaged  Joey  as  his  assistant 
there  was  soon  not  a  sausage  left.  However,  this 
did  not  matter,  for  there  was  a  box  rather  like  an 
ice-cream  machine,  and  you  put  chunks  of  pork 
in  at  one  end  and  turned  a  handle  and  they  came 
out  as  sausages  at  the  other  end.  Joey  quite  en- 
joyed doing  this,  and  you  could  see  that  the  sau- 
sages were  excellent  by  the  way  he  licked  his  fingers 
after  touching  them,  but  soon  there  were  no  more 
pieces  of  pork,  and  just  then  a  dear  little  Irish 
terrier-dog  came  trotting  down  the  street,  so  what 
did  Joey  do  but  pop  it  into  the  machine  and  it 
came  out  at  the  other  end  as  sausages. 

It  was  this  callous  act  that  turned  all  David's 
mirth  to  woe,  and  drove  us  weeping  to  our  growler. 

Heaven  knows  I  have  no  wish  to  defend  this  cruel 
deed,  but  as  Joey  told  me  afterward,  it  is  very 
difficult  to  say  what  they  will  think  funny  and  what 
barbarous.  I  was  forced  to  admit  to  him  that  David 
had  perceived  only  the  joyous  in  the  pokering  of 
287 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

the  policeman's  legs,  and  had  called  out  heartily 
"Do  it  again !"  every  time  Joey  knocked  the  pan- 
taloon down  with  one  kick  and  helped  him  up  with 
another. 

"It  hurts  the  poor  chap,"  I  was  told  by  Joey, 
whom  I  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find  by  no  means 
wanting  in  the  more  humane  feelings,  "and  he 
wouldn't  stand  it  if  there  wasn't  the  laugh  to  en- 
courage him." 

He  maintained  that  the  dog  got  that  laugh  to 
encourage  him  also. 

However,  he  had  not  got  it  from  David,  whose 
mother  and  father  and  nurse  combined  could  not 
comfort  him,  though  they  swore  that  the  dog  was 
still  alive  and  kicking,  which  might  all  have  been 
very  well  had  not  David  seen  the  sausages.  It  was 
to  inquire  whether  anything  could  be  done  to  atone 
that  in  considerable  trepidation  I  sent  in  my  card 
to  the  clown,  and  the  result  of  our  talk  was  that 
he  invited  me  and  David  to  have  tea  with  him  on 
Thursday  next  at  liis  lodgings. 

"I  sha'n't  laugh,"  David  said,  nobly  true  to  the 
memory  of  the  little  dog,  "I  sha'n't  laugh  once,'* 
288 


JOEY 

and  he  closed  his  jaws  very  tightly  as  we  drew 
near  the  house  in  Soho  where  Joey  lodged.  But  he 
also  gripped  my  hand,  Hke  one  who  knew  that  it 
would  be  an  ordeal  not  to  laugh. 

The  house  was  rather  like  the  ordinary  kind, 
but  there  was  a  convenient  sausage-shop  exactly 
opposite  (trust  Joey  for  that)  and  we  saw  a  police- 
man in  the  street  looking  the  other  way,  as  they 
always  do  look  just  before  you  rub  them.  A  woman 
wearing  the  same  kind  of  clothes  as  people  in  other 
houses  wear,  told  us  to  go  up  to  the  second  floor, 
and  she  grinned  at  David,  as  if  she  had  heard  about 
him ;  so  up  we  went,  David  muttering  through  his 
clenched  teeth,  "I  sha'n't  laugh,"  and  as  soon  as 
we  knocked  a  voice  called  out,  "Here  we  are  again !" 
at  which  a  shudder  passed  through  David  as  if 
he  feared  that  he  had  set  himself  an  impossible 
task.  In  we  went,  however,  and  though  the  voice 
had  certainly  come  from  this  room  we  found  no- 
body there.  I  looked  in  bewilderment  at  David,  and 
he  quickly  put  his  hand  over  his  mouth. 

It  was  a  funny  room,  of  course,  but  not  so  funny 
us  you  might  expect ;  there  were  droll  things  in  it, 
289 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

but  they  did  nothing  funny,  you  could  see  that  they 
were  just  waiting  for  Joey.  There  were  padded 
chairs  with  friendly  looking  rents  down  the  middle 
of  them,  and  a  table  and  a  horse-hair  sofa,  and 
we  sat  down  very  cautiously  on  the  sofa  but 
nothing  happened  to  us. 

The  biggest  piece  of  furniture  was  an  enormous 
wicker  trunk,  with  a  very  lively  coloured  stocking 
dangling  out  at  a  hole  in  it,  and  a  notice  on  the 
top  that  Joey  was  the  funniest  man  on  eartho  David 
tried  to  pull  the  stocking  out  of  the  hole,  but  it  was 
so  long  that  it  never  came  to  an  end,  and  when  it 
measured  six  times  the  length  of  the  room  he  had 
to  cover  his  mouth  again. 

"I'm  not  laughing,"  he  said  to  me,  quite  fiercely. 
He  even  managed  not  to  laugh  (though  he  did 
gulp)  when  we  discovered  on  the  mantelpiece  a 
photograph  of  Joey  in  ordinary  clothes,  the  gar- 
ments he  wore  before  he  became  a  clown.  You  can't 
think  how  absurd  he  looked  in  them.  But  David 
didn't  laugh. 

Suddenly  Joey  was  standing  beside  us,  it  could 
not  have  been  more  sudden  though  he  had  come 
290 


JOEY 

from  beneath  the  table,  and  he  was  wearing  his 
pantomime  clothes  (which  he  told  us  afterward 
were  the  only  clothes  he  had)  and  his  red  and 
white  face  was  so  funny  that  David  made  gurgling 
sounds,  which  were  his  laugh  trying  to  force  a 
passage. 

I  introduced  David,  who  offered  his  hand  stiffly, 
but  Joey,  instead  of  taking  it,  put  out  his  tongue 
and  waggled  it,  and  this  was  so  droll  that  David 
had  again  to  save  himself  by  clapping  his  hand 
over  his  mouth.  Joey  thought  he  had  toothache,  so 
I  explained  what  It  really  meant,  and  then  Joey 
said,  "Oh,  I  shall  soon  make  him  laugh,"  where- 
upon the  following  conversation  took  place  be- 
tween them: 

"No,  you  sha'n't,"  said  David  doggedly. 

"Yes,  I  shall." 

"No,  you  sha'n't  not." 

"Yes,  I  shall  so." 

"Sha'n't,  sha'n't,  sha'n't." 

"Shall,  shall,  shaU." 

"You  shut  up." 

**You're  another." 

S91 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

By  this  time  Joey  was  in  a  frightful  way  (be- 
cause he  saw  he  was  getting  the  worst  of  it),  and 
he  boasted  that  he  had  David's  laugh  in  his  pocket, 
and  David  challenged  him  to  produce  it,  and  Joey 
searched  his  pockets  and  brought  out  the  most  un- 
expected articles,  including  a  duck  and  a  bunch  of 
carrots ;  and  you  could  see  by  his  manner  that  the 
simple  soul  thought  these  were  things  which  all 
boys  carried  loose  in  their  pockets. 

I  daresay  David  would  have  had  to  laugh  in  the 
end,  had  there  not  been  a  half-gnawed  sausage  in 
one  of  the  pockets,  and  the  sight  of  it  reminded 
him  so  cruelly  of  the  poor  dog's  fate  that  he 
howled,  and  Joey's  heart  was  touched  at  last, 
and  he  also  wept,  but  he  wiped  his  eyes  with  the 
duck. 

It  was  at  this  touching  moment  that  the  panta- 
loon hobbled  in,  also  dressed  as  we  had  seen  him 
last,  and  carrying,  unfortunately,  a  trayful  of 
sausages,  which  at  once  increased  the  general 
gloom,  for  he  announced,  in  his  squeaky  voice,  that 
they  were  the  verj^  sausages  that  had  lately  been 
the  dog. 

292 


JOEY 

Then  Joey  seemed  to  have  a  great  idea,  and  his 
excitement  was  so  impressive  that  we  stood  gazing 
at  him.  First,  he  counted  the  sausages,  and  said 
that  they  were  two  short,  and  he  found  the  miss- 
ing two  up  the  pantaloon's  sleeve.  Then  he  ran  out 
of  the  room  and  came  back  with  the  sausage-ma- 
chine; and  what  do  you  think  he  did?  He  put  all 
the  sausages  into  the  end  of  the  machine  that  they 
had  issued  from,  and  turned  the  handle  backward, 
and  then  out  came  the  dog  at  the  other  end ! 

Can  you  picture  the  joy  of  David .^^ 

He  clasped  the  dear  little  terrier  in  his  arms; 
and  then  we  noticed  that  there  was  a  sausage  ad- 
hering to  its  tail.  The  pantaloon  said  we  must  have 
put  in  a  sausage  too  many,  but  Joey  said  the  ma- 
chine had  not  worked  quite  smoothly  and  that  he 
feared  this  sausage  was  the  dog's  bark,  which  dis- 
tressed David,  for  he  saw  how  awkward  it  must 
be  to  a  dog  to  have  its  bark  outside,  and  we  were 
considering  what  should  be  done  when  the  dog 
closed  the  discussion  by  swallowing  the  sausage. 

After  that,  David  had  the  most  hilarious  hour 
of  his  life,  entering  into  the  childish  pleasures  of 
293 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

this  family  as  heartily  as  if  he  had  been  brought 
up  on  sausages,  and  knocking  the  pantaloon  down 
repeatedly.  You  must  not  think  that  he  did  this 
viciously;  he  did  it  to  please  the  old  gentleman, 
who  begged  him  to  do  it,  and  always  shook  hands 
warmly  and  said  "Thank  you,"  when  he  had  done 
it.  They  are  quite  a  simple  people. 

Joey  called  David  and  me  "Sonny,"  and  asked 
David,  who  addressed  him  as  "Mr.  Clown,"  to  call 
him  Joey.  He  also  told  us  that  the  pantaloon's 
name  was  old  Joey,  and  the  columbine's  Josy,  and 
the  harlequin's  Joeykin. 

We  were  sorry  to  hear  that  old  Joey  gave  him 
a  good  deal  of  trouble.  This  was  because  his  mem- 
ory is  so  bad  that  he  often  forgets  whether  it  is 
your  head  or  your  feet  you  should  stand  on,  and 
he  usually  begins  the  day  by  standing  on  the  end 
that  happens  to  get  out  of  bed  first.  Thus  he  re- 
quires constant  watching,  and  the  worst  of  it  is, 
you  dare  not  draw  attention  to  his  mistake,  he  is 
so  shrinkingly  sensitive  about  it.  No  sooner  had 
Joey  told  us  this  than  the  poor  old  fellow  began  to 
turn  upside  down  and  stood  on  his  head;  but  we 


JOEY 

pretendfed  not  to  notice,  and  talked  about  the 
weather  until  he  came  to. 

Josy  and  Joejkin,  all  skirts  and  spangles,  were 
with  us  by  this  time,  for  they  had  been  invited  to 
tea.  They  came  in  dancing,  and  danced  off  and  on 
most  of  the  time.  Even  in  the  middle  of  what  they 
were  saying  they  would  begin  to  flutter ;  it  was  not 
so  much  that  they  meant  to  dance  as  that  the  slight- 
est thing  set  them  going,  such  as  sitting  in  a 
draught;  and  David  found  he  could  blow  them 
about  the  room  like  pieces  of  paper.  You  could  see 
by  the  shortness  of  Josy's  dress  that  she  was  very 
young  indeed,  and  at  first  this  made  him  shy,  as 
he  always  is  when  introduced  formally  to  little 
girls,  and  he  stood  sucking  his  thumb,  and  so 
did  she,  but  soon  the  stiffness  wore  off  and  they 
sat  together  on  the  sofa,  holding  each  other's 
hands. 

All  this  time  the  harlequin  was  rotating  like  a 
beautiful  fish,  and  David  requested  him  to  jump 
through  the  wall,  at  which  he  is  such  an  adept,  and 
first  he  said  he  would,  and  then  he  said  better  not, 
for  the  last  time  he  did  it  the  people  In  the  next 
295 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

house  had  made  such  a  fuss.  David  had  to  admit 
that  it  must  be  rather  startHng  to  the  people  on 
the  other  side  of  the  wall,  but  he  was  sorry. 

By  this  time  tea  was  ready,  and  Josy,  who 
poured  out,  remembered  to  ask  if  you  took  milk 
with  just  one  drop  of  tea  in  it,  exactly  as  her 
mother  would  have  asked.  There  was  nothing  to 
eat,  of  course,  except  sausages,  but  what  a  number 
of  them  there  were!  hundreds  at  least,  strings  of 
sausages,  and  every  now  and  then  Joey  jumped  up 
and  played  skipping  rope  with  them.  David  had 
been  taught  not  to  look  greedy,  even  though  he 
felt  greedy,  and  he  was  shocked  to  see  the  way  in 
which  Joey  and  old  Joey  and  even  Josy  eyed  the 
sausages  they  had  given  him.  Soon  Josy  developed 
nobler  feelings,  for  she  and  Joeykin  suddenly  fell 
madly  in  love  with  each  other  across  the  table,  but 
unaffected  by  this  pretty  picture,  Joey  continued 
to  put  whole  sausages  in  his  mouth  at  a  time,  and 
then  rubbed  himself  a  little  lower  down,  while  old 
Joey  secreted  them  about  his  person;  and  when 
David  wasn't  looking  they  both  pounced  on  his 
sausages,  and  yet  as  they  gobbled  they  were  con- 
296 


JOEY 

stantly  running  to  the  top  of  the  stair  and 
screaming  to  the  servant  to  bring  up  more  sau- 
sages. 

You  could  see  that  Joey  (if  you  caught  him  with 
his  hand  in  your  plate)  was  a  bit  ashamed  of  him- 
self, and  he  admitted  to  us  that  sausages  were  a 
passion  with  him. 

He  said  he  had  never  once  in  his  life  had  a  suf- 
ficient number  of  sausages.  They  had  maddened 
him  since  he  was  the  smallest  boy.  He  told  us  how, 
even  in  those  days,  his  mother  had  feared  for  him, 
though  fond  of  a  sausage  herself;  how  he  had 
bought  a  sausage  with  his  first  penny,  and  hoped 
to  buy  one  with  his  last  (if  they  could  not  be  got 
in  any  other  way),  and  that  he  always  slept  with 
a  string  of  them  beneath  his  pillow. 

While  he  was  giving  us  these  confidences,  un- 
fortunately, his  eyes  came  to  rest,  at  first  acci- 
dentally, then  wistfully,  then  with  a  horrid  gleam 
in  them,  on  the  little  dog,  which  was  fooling  about 
on  the  top  of  the  sausage-machine,  and  his  hands 
went  out  toward  it  convulsively,  whereat  David,  in 
sudden  fear,  seized  the  dog  in  one  arm  and  gal- 
297 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

lantly  clenched  his  other  fist,  and  then  Joey  begged 
his  pardon  and  burst  into  tears,  each  one  of  which 
he  flung  against  the  wall,  where  it  exploded  with 
a  bang. 

David  refused  to  pardon  him  unless  he  promised 
on  wood  never  to  look  in  that  way  at  the  dog  again, 
but  Joey  said  promises  were  nothing  to  him  when 
he  was  short  of  sausages,  and  so  his  wisest  course 
would  be  to  present  the  dog  to  David.  Oh,  the  joy 
of  David  when  he  understood  that  the  little  dog 
he  had  saved  was  his  very  own!  I  can  tell  you  he 
was  now  in  a  hurry  to  be  off  before  Joey  had  time 
to  change  his  mind. 

"All  I  ask  of  you,"  Joey  said  with  a  break  in 
his  voice,  "is  to  call  him  after  me,  and  always  to 
give  him  a  sausage,  sonny,  of  a  Saturday  night." 

There  was  a  quiet  dignity  about  Joey  at  the 
end,  which  showed  that  he  might  have  risen  to  high 
distinction  but  for  his  fatal  passion. 

The  last  we  saw  of  him  was  from  the  street.  He 
was  waving  his  tongue  at  us  in  his  attractive,  fool- 
ish way,  and  Josy  was  poised  on  Joey  kin's  hand 
like  a  butterfly  that  had  alighted  on  a  flower.  We 
S9S 


JOEY 

could  not  exactly  see  old  Joey,  but  we  saw  his  feet, 
and  so  feared  the  worst.  Of  course  they  are  not 
everything  they  should  be,  but  one  can't  help 
liking  them. 


xxin 

[.KINGTO] 

UN  attaining  the  age  of  eight,  or  thereabout, 
children  fly  away  from  the  Gardens,  and  never 
come  back.  When  next  you  meet  them  they  are 
ladies  and  gentlemen  holding  up  their  umbrellas 
to  hail  a  hansom. 

Where  the  girls  go  to  I  know  not,  to  some  pri- 
vate place,  I  suppose,  to  put  up  their  hair,  but 
the  boys  have  gone  to  Pilkington's.  He  is  a  man 
with  a  cane.  You  may  not  go  to  Pilkington's  in 
knickerbockers  made  by  your  mother,  make  she  ever 
so  artfully.  They  must  be  real  knickerbockers.  It 
is  his  stern  rule.  Hence  the  fearful  fascination  of 
Pilkington's. 

He  may  be  conceived  as  one  who,  baiting  his 
hook  with  real  knickerbockers,  fishes  all  day  in  the 
Gardens,  which  are  to  him  but  a  pool  swarming 
with  small  fry. 

Abhorred  shade!  I  know  not  what  manner  of 

soo 


PILKINGTON'S 

man  thou  art  in  the  flesh,  sir,  but  figure  thee  beard- 
ed and  blackavised,  and  of  a  lean  tortuous  habit 
of  body,  that  moves  ever  with  a  swish.  Every  morn- 
ing, I  swear,  thou  readest  avidly  the  list  of  male 
births  in  thy  paper,  and  then  are  thy  hands  rubbed 
gloatingly  the  one  upon  the  other.  'Tis  fear  of 
thee  and  thy  gown  and  thy  cane,  which  are  part 
of  thee,  that  makes  the  fairies  to  hide  by  day ;  wert 
thou  to  linger  but  once  among  their  haunts  be- 
tween the  hours  of  Lock-out  and  Open  Gates  there 
would  be  left  not  one  single  gentle  place  in  all  the 
Gardens.  The  little  people  would  flit.  How  much 
wiser  they  than  the  small  boys  who  swim  glamoured 
to  thy  crafty  hook.  Thou  devastator  of  the  Gar- 
dens, I  know  thee,  Pilkington. 

I  first  heard  of  Pilkington  from  David,  who  had 
it  from  Oliver  Bailey. 

This  Oliver  Bailey  was  one  of  the  most  dashing 
figures  in  the  Gardens,  and  without  apparent  effort 
was  daily  drawing  nearer  the  completion  of  his 
seventh  year  at  a  time  when  David  seemed  unable 
to  get  beyond  half-past  five.  I  have  to  speak  of 
him  in  the  past  tense,  for  gone  is  Oliver  from  the 
301 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

Gardens  (gone  to  Pilkington's )  but  he  is  still  a 
name  among  us,  and  some  lordly  deeds  are  remem- 
bered of  him,  as  that  his  father  shaved  twice  a  day. 
Oliver  himself  was  all  on  that  scale. 

His  not  ignoble  ambition  seems  always  to  have 
been  to  be  wrecked  upon  an  island,  indeed  I  am 
told  that  he  mentioned  it  insinuatingly  in  his 
prayers,  and  it  was  perhaps  inevitable  that  a  boy 
with  such  an  outlook  should  fascinate  David.  I  am 
proud,  therefore,  to  be  able  to  state  on  wood  that 
it  was  Oliver  himself  who  made  the  overture. 

On  first  hearing,  from  some  satellite  of  Oliver's, 
of  Wrecked  Islands,  as  they  are  called  in  the  Gar- 
dens, David  said  wistfully  that  he  supposed  you 
needed  to  be  very  very  good  before  you  had  any 
chance  of  being  wrecked,  and  the  remark  was  con- 
veyed to  Oliver,  on  whom  it  made  an  uncomfortable 
impression.  For  a  time  he  tried  to  evade  it,  but 
ultimately  David  was  presented  to  him  and  invited 
gloomily  to  say  it  again.  The  upshot  was  that 
Oliver  advertised  the  Gardens  of  his  intention  to 
be  good  until  he  was  eight,  and  if  he  had  not  been 
wrecked  by  that  time,  to  be  as  jolly  bad  as  a  boj 
902 


PILKINGTON'S 

could  be.  He  was  naturally  so  bad  that  at  the 
Kindergarten  Academy,  when  the  mistress  ordered 
whoever  had  done  the  last  naughty  deed  to  step 
forward,  Oliver's  custom  had  been  to  step  forward, 
not  necessarily  because  he  had  done  it,  but  because 
he  presumed  he  very  likely  had. 

The  friendship  of  the  two  dated  from  this  time, 
and  at  first  I  thought  Oliver  discovered  generosity 
in  hasting  to  David  as  to  an  equal ;  he  also  walked 
hand  in  hand  with  him,  and  even  reproved  him  for 
delinquencies  like  a  loving  elder  brother.  But  'tis 
a  gray  world  even  in  the  Gardens,  for  I  found  that 
a  new  arrangement  had  been  made  which  reduced 
Oliver  to  life-size.  He  had  wearied  of  well-doing, 
and  passed  it  on,  so  to  speak,  to  his  friend.  In 
other  words,  on  David  now  devolved  the  task  of 
being  good  until  he  was  eight,  while  Oliver  clung 
to  him  so  closely  that  the  one  could  not  be  wrecked 
without  the  other. 

When  this  was  made  known  to  me  it  was  already 

too  late  to  break  the  spell  of  Oliver,  David  was 

top-heavy  with  pride  in  him,  and,  faith,  I  began 

to  find  myself  very  much  in  the  cold,  for  Oliver 

303 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

was  frankly  bored  by  me  and  even  David  seemed 
to  think  it  would  be  convenient  if  I  went  and  sat 
with  Irene.  Am  I  affecting  to  laugh?  I  was  really 
distressed  and  lonely,  and  rather  bitter;  and  how 
humble  I  became.  Sometimes  when  the  dog  Joey 
is  unable,  by  frisking,  to  induce  Porthos  to  play 
with  him,  he  stands  on  his  hind  legs  and  begs  it  of 
him,  and  I  do  believe  I  was  sometimes  as  humble  as 
Joey.  Then  David  would  insist  on  my  being  suf- 
fered to  join  them,  but  it  was  plain  that  he  had 
no  real  occasion  for  me. 

It  was  an  unheroic  trouble,  and  I  despised  my- 
self. For  years  I  had  been  fighting  Mary  for 
David,  and  had  not  wholly  failed  though  she  was 
advantaged  by  the  accident  of  relationship;  was  I 
now  to  be  knocked  out  so  easily  by  a  seven  year 
old?  I  reconsidered  my  weapons,  and  I  fought  Oli- 
ver and  beat  him.  Figure  to  yourself  those  two 
boys  become  as  faithful  to  me  as  my  coat-tails. 

With  wrecked  islands  I  did  it.  I  began  in  the 

most  unpretentious  way  by  telling  them  a  story 

which  might  last  an  hour,  and  favoured  by  many 

an  unexpected  wind  it  lasted  eighteen  months.  It 

304 


PILKINGTON'S 

started  as  the  wreck  of  the  simple  Swiss  family 
who  looked  up  and  saw  the  butter  tree,  but  soon  a 
glorious  inspiration  of  the  night  turned  it  into  the 
wreck  of  David  A —  and  Oliver  Bailey.  At  first  it 
was  what  they  were  to  do  when  they  were  wrecked, 
but  imperceptibly  it  became  what  they  had  done. 
I  spent  much  of  my  time  staring  reflectively  at 
the  titles  of  the  boys'  stories  in  the  booksellers' 
windows,  whistling  for  a  breeze,  so  to  say,  for  I 
found  that  the  titles  were  even  more  helpful  than 
the  stories.  We  wrecked  everybody  of  note,  includ- 
ing all  Homer's  most  taking  characters  and  the 
hero  of  Paradise  Lost.  But  we  suffered  them  not 
to  land.  We  stripped  them  of  what  we  wanted  and 
left  them  to  wander  the  high  seas  naked  of  advent- 
ure. And  all  this  was  merely  the  beginning. 

By  this  time  I  had  been  cast  upon  the  island.  It 
was  not  my  own  proposal,  but  David  knew  my 
wishes,  and  he  made  it  all  right  for  me  with  Oliver. 
They  found  me  among  the  breakers  with  a  large 
dog,  which  had  kept  me  afloat  throughout  that 
terrible  night.  I  was  the  sole  survivor  of  the  ill- 
fated  An/na  Pink.  So  exhausted  was  I  that  they  had 
305 


f 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

to  carry  me  to  their  hut,  and  great  was  my  grati- 
tude when  on  opening  my  eyes,  I  found  myself 
in  that  romantic  edifice  instead  of  in  Davy  Jones's 
locker.  As  we  walked  in  the  Gardens  I  told  them 
of  the  hut  they  had  built;  and  they  were  inflated 
but  not  surprised.  On  the  other  hand  they  looked 
for  surprise  from  me. 

"Did  we  teU  you  about  the  turtle  we  turned 
on  its  back?"  asked  Oliver,  reverting  to  deeds  of 
theirs  of  which  I  had  previously  told  them. 

"You  did." 

"Who  turned  it?"  demanded  David,  not  as  one 
who  needed  information  but  after  the  manner  of 
a  schoolmaster.  » 

"If  was  turned,"  I  said,  "by  David  A — ,  the 
younger  of  the  two  youths." 

"Who  made  the  monkeys  fling  cocoa-nuts  at 
him?"  asked  the  older  of  the  two  youths. 

"Oliver  Bailey,"  I  replied. 

"Was  it  Oliver,"  asked  David  sharply,  "that 
found  the  cocoa-nut-tree  first?" 

"On  the  contrary,"  I  answered,  "it  was  first  ob- 
served by  David,  who  immediately  climbed  it,  re- 
306 


PILKINGTON'S 

marking,  'This  is  certainly  the  cocos-rmciferay  for, 
see,  dear  Oliver,  the  slender  columns  supporting 
the  crown  of  leaves  which  fall  with  a  grace  that 
no  art  can  imitate.'  " 

"That's  what  I  said,"  remarked  David  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand. 

"I  said  things  like  that,  too,"  Oliver  insisted. 

"No,  you  didn't  then,"  said  David. 

"Yes,  I  did  so." 

"No,  you  didn't  so." 

"Shut  up." 

"Well,  then,  let's  hear  one  you  said." 

Oliver  looked  appealingly  at  me.  "The  follow- 
ing," I  announced,  "is  one  that  Oliver  said :  'Truly 
dear  comrade,  though  the  perils  of  these  happen- 
ings are  great,  and  our  privations  calculated  to 
break  the  stoutest  heart,  yet  to  be  rewarded  by  such 
fair  sights  I  would  endure  still  greater  trials  and 
still  rejoice  even  as  the  bird  on  yonder  bough.' " 

"That's  one  I  said  I"  crowed  Oliver. 

"I  shot  the  bird,"  said  David  instantly. 

"What  bird.?" 

"The  yonder  bird." 

307 


THE   LITTLE   WHITE    BIRD 

"No,  jou  didn't." 

"Did  I  not  shoot  the  bird?" 

"It  was  David  who  shot  the  bird,"  I  said,  "but 
it  was  Oliver  who  saw  by  its  multi-coloured  plum- 
age that  it  was  one  of  the  Psittacida,  an  excellent 
substitute  for  partridge." 

"You  didn't  see  that,"  said  Oliver,  rather 
swollen. 

"Yes,  I  did." 

"What  did  you  see.?" 

"I  saw  that." 

"What?" 

"You  shut  up." 

"David  shot  it,"  I  summed  up,  "and  Oliver 
knew  its  name,  but  I  ate  it.  Do  you  remember  how 
hungry  I  was?" 

"Rather!"  said  David. 

"I  cooked  it,"  said  Oliver. 

"It  was  served  up  on  toast,"  I  reminded  them. 

"I  toasted  it,"  said  David. 

"Toast  from  the  bread-fruit-tree,"  I  said, 
"which  (as  you  both  remarked  simultaneously) 
bears  two  and  sometimes  three  crops  in  a  year,  and 
308 


PILKINGTON'S 

also  affords  a  serviceable  gum  for  the  pitching  of 
canoes." 

"I  pitched  mine  best,"  said  Oliver. 

"I  pitched  mine  farthest,"  said  David. 

"And  when  I  had  finished  my  repast,"  said  I, 
"you  amazed  me  by  handing  me  a  cigar  from  th« 
tobacco-plant." 

"I  handed  it,"  said  Oliver. 

^  I  snicked  off  the  end,"  said  David. 

*'And  then,"  said  I,  "you  gave  me  a  light." 

"Which  of  us .''"  they  cried  together. 

"Both  of  you,"  I  said.  "Never  shall  I  forget  my 
amazement  when  I  saw  you  get  that  light  by  rub- 
bing two  sticks  together." 

At  this  they  waggled  their  heads.  "You  couldn't 
have  done  it !"  said  David. 

"No,  David,"  I  admitted,  "I  can't  do  it,  but  , 
of  course  I  know  that  all  wrecked  boys  do  it  quite 
easily.  Show  me  how  you  did  it." 

But  after  consulting  apart  they  agreed  not  to 
kShow  me.  I  was  not  shown  everything. 

David   was  now   firmly   convinced  that  he  had 
lonce  been  wrecked  on  an  island,  while  OHver  passed 
S09 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

his  days  in  dubiety.  They  used  to  argue  it  out  to- 
gether and  among  their  friends.  As  I  unfolded 
the  story  OHver  listened  with  an  open  knife  in  his 
hand,  and  David  who  was  not  allowed  to  have  a 
knife  wore  a  pirate-string  round  his  waist.  Irene 
in  her  usual  interfering  way  objected  to  this  bauble 
and  dropped  disparaging  remarks  about  wrecked 
islands  which  were  little  to  her  credit.  I  was  for 
defying  her,  but  David,  who  had  the  knack  of 
women,  knew  a  better  way;  he  craftily  proposed 
that  we  "should  let  Irene  in,"  in  short,  should 
wreck  her,  and  though  I  objected,  she  proved  a 
great  success  and  recognised  the  yucca  fllamentosa 
by  its  long  narrow  leaves  the  very  day  she  joined 
us.  Thereafter  we  had  no  more  scoffing  from^ 
Irene,  who  listened  to  the  story  as  hotly  as  any- 
body. 

This  encouraged  us  in  time  to  let  in  David's 
father  and  mother,  though  they  never  knew  it  un- 
less he  told  them,  as  I  have  no  doubt  he  did.  They 
were  admitted  primarily  to  gratify  David,  who  was 
very  soft-hearted  and  knew  that  while  he  was  on 
the  island  they  must  be  missing  him  very  much  at 
310 


PILKINGTON'S 

home.  So  we  let  them  in,  and  there  was  no  part  of 
the  story  he  Hked  better  than  that  which  told  of 
the  joyous  meeting.  We  were  in  need  of  another 
woman  at  any  rate,  someone  more  romantic  look- 
ing than  Irene,  and  Mary,  I  can  assure  her  now, 
had  a  busy  time  of  it.  She  was  constantly  being 
carried  off  by  cannibals,  and  David  became  quite 
an  adept  at  plucking  her  from  the  very  pot  itself 
and  springing  from  cliff  to  cliff  with  his  lovely 
burden  in  his  arms.  There  was  seldom  a  Saturday 
in  which  David  did  not  kill  his  man. 

I  shall  now  provide  the  proof  that  David  be- 
lieved it  all  to  be  as  true  as  true.  It  was  told  me  by 
Oliver,  who  had  it  from  our  hero  himself.  I  had 
described  to  them  how  the  savages  had  tattooed 
David's  father,  and  Oliver  informed  me  that  one 
night  shortly  afterward  David  was  discovered 
softly  lifting  the  blankets  off  his  father's  legs  to 
have  a  look  at  the  birds  and  reptiles  etched 
thereon. 

Thus  many  months  passed  with  no  word  of  Pil- 
kington,  and  you  may  be  asking  where  he  was  all 
this  time.  Ah,  my  friends,  he  was  very  busy  fishing, 
311 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

though  I  was  as  yet  unaware  of  his  existence.  Most 
suddenly  I  heard  the  whirr  of  his  hated  reel,  as 
he  struck  a  fish.  I  remember  that  grim  day  with 
painful  vividness,  it  was  a  wet  day,  indeed  I  think 
it  has  rained  for  me  more  or  less  ever  since.  As  soon 
as  they  joined  me  I  saw  from  the  manner  of  the 
two  boys  that  they  had  something  to  communicate. 
Oliver  nudged  David  and  retired  a  few  paces, 
whereupon  David  said  to  me  solemnly, 

"Oliver  is  going  to  Pilkington's." 

I  immediately  perceived  that  it  was  some  school, 
but  so  little  did  I  understand  the  import  of  David's 
remark  that  I  called  out  jocularly,  "I  hope  he  won't 
swish  you,  Oliver." 

Evidently  I  had  pained  both  of  them,  for  they 
exchanged  glances  and  retired  for  consultation  be- 
hind a  tree,  whence  David  returned  to  say  with 
emphasis, 

"He  has  two  jackets  and  two  shirts  and  two 
knickerbockers,  all  real  ones.*^ 

"Well  done,  Oliver!"  said  I,  but  it  was  the 
wrong  thing  again,  and  once  more  they  dis- 
appeared behind  the  tree.  Evidently  they  decided 
312 


PILKINGTON'S 

that  the  time  for  plain  speaking  was  come,  for  now 
David  announced  bluntly : 

"He  wants  jou  not  to  call  him  Oliver  any 
longer." 

"What  shall  I  call  him?" 

"Bailey," 

"But  why?" 

"He's  going  to  Pilkington's.  And  he  can't  play 
with  us  any  more  after  next  Saturday." 

"Why  not?" 

"He's  going  to  Pilkington's." 

So  now  I  knew  the  law  about  the  thing,  and  we 
moved  on  together,  Oliver  stretching  himself  con- 
sciously, and  methought  that  even  David  walked 
with  a  sedater  air. 

"David,"  said  I,  with  a  sinking,  "are  you  going 
to  Pilkington's?" 

''^When  I  am  eight,"  he  replied. 

"And  sha'n't  I  call  you  David  then,  and  won't 
you  play  with  me  in  the  Gardens  any  more?" 

He  looked  at  Bailey,  and  Bailey  signalled  him 
to  be  firm. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  David  cheerily. 
313 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

Thus  sharply  did  I  learn  how  much  longer  I 
was  to  have  of  him.  Strange  that  a  little  boy  can 
give  so  much  pain.  I  dropped  his  hand  and  walked 
on  in  silence,  and  presently  I  did  my  most  churlish 
to  hurt  him  by  ending  the  story  abruptly  in  a 
very  cruel  way.  "Ten  years  have  elapsed,"  said  I, 
"since  I  last  spoke,  and  our  two  heroes,  now  gay 
young  men,  are  revisiting  the  wrecked  island  of 
their  childhood.  'Did  we  wreck  ourselves,'  said  one, 
*or  was  there  someone  to  help  us.?'  And  the  other 
who  was  the  younger,  replied,  'I  think  there  was 
someone  to  help  us,  a  man  with  a  dog.  I  think  he 
used  to  tell  me  stories  in  the  Kensington  Gardens, 
but  I  forget  all  about  him ;  I  don't  remember  even 
his  name.'  " 

This  tame  ending  bored  Bailey,  and  he  drifted 
away  from  us,  but  David  still  walked  by  my  side, 
and  he  was  grown  so  quiet  that  I  knew  a  storm  was 
brewing.  Suddenly  he  flashed  lightning  on  me.  "It's 
not  true,"  he  cried,  "it's  a  lie!"  He  gripped  my 
hand.  "I  sha'n't  never  forget  you,  father." 

Strange  that  a  little  boy  can  give  so  much 
pleasure. 

S14 


PILKINGTON'S 

Yet  I  could  go  on.  "You  will  forget,  David,  but 
there  was  once  a  boy  who  would  have  remembered." 

"Timothy .?"  said  he  at  once.  He  thinks  Timothy 
was  a  real  boy,  and  is  very  jealous  of  him.  He 
turned  his  back  to  me,  and  stood  alone  and  wept 
passionately,  while  I  waited  for  him.  You  may  be 
sure  I  begged  his  pardon,  and  made  it  all  right 
with  him,  and  had  him  laughing  and  happy  again 
before  I  let  him  go.  But  nevertheless  what  I  said 
was  true.  David  is  not  my  boy,  and  he  will  forget. 
But  Timothy  would  have  remembered. 


915 


XXIV 

BARBARA 

Another  shock  was  waiting  for  me  farther 
down  the  story. 

For  we  had  resumed  our  adventures,  though  we 
seldom  saw  Bailey  now.  At  long  intervals  we  met 
him  on  our  way  to  or  from  the  Gardens,  and,  if 
there  was  none  from  Pilkington's  to  mark  him, 
methought  he  looked  at  us  somewhat  longingly, 
as  if  beneath  his  real  knickerbockers  a  morsel  of 
the  egg-shell  still  adhered.  Otherwise  he  gave  David 
a  not  unfriendly  kick  in  passing,  and  called  him 
**youngster."  That  was  about  all. 

When  Oliver  disappeared  from  the  life  of  the 
Gardens  we  had  lofted  him  out  of  the  story,  and 
did  very  well  without  him,  extending  our  operations 
to  the  mainland,  where  they  were  on  so  vast  a  scale 
that  we  were  rapidly  depopulating  the  earth.  And 
then  said  David  one  day, 

"Shall  we  let  Barbara  in.?" 
316 


BARBARA 

We  had  occasionally  considered  the  giving  of 
Bailey's  place  to  some  other  child  of  the  Gardens, 
divers  of  David's  year  having  sought  election,  even 
with  bribes ;  but  Barbara  was  new  to  me. 

"Who  is  she?"  I  asked. 

"She's  my  sister." 

You  may  imagine  how  I  gaped. 

"She  hasn't  come  yet,"  David  said  lightly,  "but 
she's  coming." 

I  was  shocked,  not  perhaps  so  much  shocked  as 
disillusioned,  for  though  I  had  always  suspicioned 

Mary  A as  one  who  harboured  the  craziest 

ambitions  when  she  looked  most  humble,  of  such 
presumption  as  this  I  had  never  thought  her 
capable. 

I  wandered  across  the  Broad  Walk  to  have  a  look 
at  Irene,  and  she  was  wearing  an  unmistakable 
air.  It  set  me  reflecting  about  Mary's  husband  and 
his  manner  the  last  time  we  met,  for  though  I  have 
had  no  opportunity  to  say  so,  we  still  meet  now 
and  again,  and  he  has  even  dined  with  me  at  the 
club.  On  these  occasions  the  subject  of  Timothy 
317 


^    THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

IS  barred,  and  if  by  any  unfortunate  accident 
Mary's  name  is  mentioned,  we  immediately  look  op- 
posite ways  and  a  silence  follows,  in  which  I  feel 
sure  he  is  smiling,  and  wonder  what  the  deuce  he 
is  smiling  at.  I  remembered  now  that  I  had  last 
seen  him  when  I  was  dining  with  him  at  his  club 
(for  he  is  become  member  of  a  club  of  painter  fel- 
lows, and  Mary  is  so  proud  of  this  that  she  has 
had  it  printed  on  his  card),  when  undoubtedly  he 
had  looked  preoccupied.  It  had  been  the  look,  I 
saw  now,  of  one  who  shared  a  guilty  secret. 

As  all  was  thus  suddenly  revealed  to  me  I 
laughed  unpleasantly  at  myself,  for,  on  my  soul, 
I  had  been  thinking  well  of  Mary  of  late.  Always 
foolishly  inflated  about  David,  she  had  been  grudg- 
ing him  even  to  me  during  these  last  weeks,  and  I 
had  forgiven  her,  putting  it  down  to  a  mother's 
love.  I  knew  from  the  poor  boy  of  unwonted  treats 
she  had  been  giving  him;  I  had  seen  her  embrace 
him  furtively  in  a  public  place,  her  every  act,  in  so 
far  as  they  were  known  to  me,  had  been  a  challenge 
to  whoever  dare  assert  that  she  wanted  anyone  but 
David.  How  could  I,  not  being  a  woman,  liave 
S18 


BARBARA 

guessed  that  she  was  really  saying  good-bye  to 
him? 

Reader,  picture  to  yourself  that  simple  little  boy 
playing  about  the  house  at  this  time,  on  the  under- 
standing that  everything  was  going  on  as  usual. 
Have  not  his  toys  acquired  a  new  pathos,  especially 
the  engine  she  bought  him  yesterday? 

Did  you  look  him  in  the  face,  Mary,  as  you  gave 
him  that  engine?  I  envy  you  not  your  feelings, 
ma'am,  when  with  loving  arms  he  wrapped  you 
round  for  it.  That  childish  confidence  of  his  to  me, 
in  which  unwittingly  he  betrayed  you,  indicates 
that  at  last  you  have  been  preparing  him  for  the 
great  change,  and  I  suppose  you  are  capable  of  re- 
plying to  me  that  David  is  still  happy,  and  even  in- 
terested. But  does  he  know  from  you  what  it  really 
means  to  him?  Rather,  I  do  believe,  you  are  one 
who  would  not  scruple  to  give  him  to  understand 
that  B  (which  you  may  yet  find  stands  for  Benja- 
min) is  primarily  a  gift  for  him.  In  your  heart, 
ma'am,  what  do  you  think  of  this  tricking  of  a 
little  boy? 

Suppose  David  had  known  what  was  to  happen 
319 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

before  he  came  to  you,  are  you  sure  he  would  have 
come?  Undoubtedly  there  is  an  unwritten  compact 
in  such  matters  between  a  mother  and  her  first- 
bom,  and  I  desire  to  point  out  to  you  that  he  never 
breaks  it.  Again,  what  will  the  other  boys  say  when 
they  know?  You  are  outside  the  criticism  of  the 
Gardens,  but  David  is  not.  Faith,  madam,  I  believe 
you  would  have  been  kinder  to  wait  and  let  him 
run  the  gauntlet  at  Pilkington's. 

You  think  your  husband  is  a  great  man  now 
because  they  are  beginning  to  talk  of  his  fore- 
grounds and  middle  distances  in  the  newspaper 
columns  that  nobody  reads.  I  know  you  have 
bought  him  a  velvet  coat,  and  that  he  has  taken  a 
large,  airy  and  commodious  studio  in  Mews  Laite, 
where  you  are  to  be  found  in  a  soft  material  on 
first  and  third  Wednesdays.  Times  are  changing, 
but  shall  I  tell  you  a  story  here,  just  to  let  you 
see  that  I  am  acquainted  with  it? 

Three  years  ago  a  certain  gallery  accepted  from 

a  certain  artist  a  picture  which  he  and  his  wife 

knew  to  be  monstrous  fine.  But  no  one  spoke  of 

the  picture,  no  one  wrote  of  it,  and  no  one  made 

320 


BARBARA 

an  offer  for  It.  Crushed  was  the  artist,  sorry  for 
the  denseness  of  connoisseurs  was  his  wife,  till  the 
work  was  bought  by  a  dealer  for  an  anonymous 
client,  and  then  elated  were  they  both,  and  relieved 
also  to  discover  that  I  was  not  the  buyer.  He  came 
to  me  at  once  to  make  sure  of  this,  and  remained 
to  walk  the  floor  gloriously  as  he  told  me  what 
recognition  means  to  gentlemen  of  the  artistic 
callings.  O,  the  happy  boy ! 

But  months  afterward,  rummaging  at  his  home 
in  a  closet  that  is  usually  kept  locked,  he  discovered 
the  picture,  there  hidden  away.  His  wife  backed 
into  a  corner  and  made  trembling  confession.  How 
could  she  submit  to  see  her  dear's  masterpiece  ig- 
nored by  the  idiot  public,  and  her  dear  himself 
plunged  into  gloom  thereby.^  She  knew  as  well  as 
he  (for  had  they  not  been  married  for  years.?) 
how  the  artistic  instinct  hungers  for  recognition, 
and  so  with  her  savings  she  bought  the  great  work 
anonymously  and  stored  it  away  In  a  closet.  At 
first,  I  believe,  the  man  raved  furiously, but  by-and- 
by  he  was  on  his  knees  at  the  feet  of  this  little 
darling.  You  know  who  she  was,  Mary,  but,  bless 
321 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

me,  I  seem  to  be  praising  you,  and  that  was  not 
the  enterprise  on  which  I  set  out.  What  I  intended 
to  convey  was  that  though  you  can  now  venture  on 
small  extravagances,  you  seem  to  be  going  too  fast. 
Look  at  it  how  one  may,  this  Barbara  idea  is  un- 
doubtedly a  bad  business. 

How  to  be  even  with  her?  I  cast  about  for  a 
means,  and  on  my  lucky  day  I  did  conceive  my 
final  triumph  over  Mary,  at  which  I  have  scarcely 
as  yet  dared  to  hint,  lest  by  discovering  it  I  should 
spoil  my  plot.  For  there  has  been  a  plot  all  the  time. 

For  long  I  had  known  that  Mary  contemplated 
the  writing  of  a  book,  my  informant  being  David, 
who,  because  I  have  published  a  little  volume  on 
Military  tactics,  and  am  preparing  a  larger  one 
on  the  same  subject  (which  I  shall  never  finish), 
likes  to  watch  my  methods  of  composition,  how  I 
dip,  and  so  on,  his  desire  being  to  help  her.  He 
may  have  done  this  on  his  own  initiative,  but  it  is 
also  quite  possible  that  in  her  desperation  she  urged 
him  to  it;  he  certainly  implied  that  she  had  taken 
to  book-writing  because  it  must  be  easy  if  I  could 
do  it.  She  also  informed  him  (very  inconsiderate- 
S22 


BARBARA 

]y),  that  I  did  not  print  my  books  myself,  and  this 
lowered  me  in  the  eyes  of  David,  for  it  was  for  the 
printing  he  had  admired  me  and  boasted  of  me  in 
the  Gardens. 

"I  suppose  you  didn't  make  the  boxes  neither, 
nor  yet  the  labels,"  he  said  to  me  in  the  voice  of 
one  shorn  of  belief  in  everything. 

I  should  say  here  that  my  literary  labours  are 
abstruse,  the  token  whereof  is  many  rows  of  boxes 
nailed  against  my  walls,  each  labelled  with  a  letter 
of  the  alphabet.  When  I  take  a  note  in  ^,  I  drop 
it  into  the  A  box,  and  so  on,  much  to  the  satis- 
faction of  David,  who  likes  to  drop  them  in  for 
me.  I  had  now  to  admit  that  Wheeler  &  Gibb  made 
the  boxes. 

"But  I  made  the  labels  myself,  David." 

"They  are  not  so  well  made  as  the  boxes,"  he 
replied. 

Thus  I  had  reason  to  wish  ill  to  Mary's  work  of 
imagination,  as  I  presumed  it  to  be,  and  I  said  to 
him  with  easy  brutality,  "Tell  her  about  the  boxes, 
David,  and  that  no  one  can  begin  a  book  until  they 
are  all  full.  That  will  frighten  her." 
323 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

Soon  thereafter  he  announced  to  me  that  she 
had  got  a  box. 

"One  box !"  I  said  with  a  sneer. 

"She  made  it  herself,"  retorted  David  hotly. 

I  got  little  real  information  from  him  about  the 
work,  partly  because  David  loses  his  footing  when 
he  descends  to  the  practical,  and  perhaps  still  more 
because  he  found  me  unsympathetic.  But  when  he 
blurted  out  the  title,  "The  Little  White  Bird,"  I 
was  like  one  who  had  read  the  book  to  its  last  page. 
I  knew  at  once  that  the  white  bird  was  the  little 
daughter  Mary  would  fain  have  had.  Somehow  I 
had  always  known  that  she  would  like  to  have  a 
little  daughter,  she  was  that  kind  of  woman,  and 
so  long  as  she  had  the  modesty  to  see  that  she 
could  not  have  one,  I  sympathised  with  her  deeply, 
whatever  I  may  have  said  about  her  book  to  David. 

In  those  days  Mary  had  the  loveliest  ideas  for 
her  sad  little  book,  and  they  came  to  her  mostly 
in  the  morning  when  she  was  only  three-parts 
awake,  but  as  she  stepped  out  of  bed  they  all  flew 
away  like  startled  birds.  I  gathered  from  David 
that  this  depressed  her  exceedingly. 
S24i 


BARBARA 

Oh,  Mary,  your  thoughts  are  much  too  pretty 
and  holy  to  show  themselves  to  anyone  but  your- 
self. The  shy  things  are  hiding  within  you.  If 
they  could  come  into  the  open  they  would  not  be 
a  book,  they  would  be  little  Barbara. 

But  that  was  not  the  message  I  sent  her.  "She 
will  never  be  able  to  write  it,"  I  explained  to 
David.  "She  has  not  the  ability.  Tell  her  I  said 
that." 

I  remembered  now  that  for  many  months  I  had 
heard  nothing  of  her  ambitious  project,  so  I  ques- 
tioned David  and  discovered  that  it  was  abandoned. 
He  could  not  say  why,  nor  was  it  necessary  that 
he  should,  the  trivial  little  reason  was  at  once  so 
plain  to  me.  From  that  moment  all  my  sympathy 
with  Mary  was  spilled,  and  I  searched  for  some 
means  of  exulting  over  her  until  I  found  it.  It  was 
this.  I  decided,  unknown  even  to  David,  to  write 
the  book  "The  Little  White  Bird,"  of  which  she 
had  proved  herself  incapable,  and  then  when,  in 
the  fulness  of  time,  she  held  her  baby  on  high, 
implying  that  she  had  done  a  big  thing,  I  was  to 
hold  up  the  book.  I  venture  to  think  that  such  a 
325 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

devilish  revenge  was  never  before  planned  and 
carried  out. 

Yes,  carried  out,  for  this  is  the  book,  rapidly 
approaching  completion.  She  and  I  are  running  a 
neck-and-neck  race. 

I  have  also  once  more  brought  the  story  of 
David's  adventures  to  an  abrupt  end.  "And  it  really 
is  the  end  this  time,  David,"  I  said  severely.  (I 
always  say  that.) 

It  ended  on  the  coast  of  Patagonia,  whither  we 
had  gone  to  shoot  the  great  Sloth,  known  to  be 
the  largest  of  animals,  though  we  found  his  size 
to  have  been  under-estimated.  David,  his  father  and 
I  had  flung  our  limbs  upon  the  beach  and  were 
having  a  last  pipe  before  turning  in,  while  Mary, 
attired  in  barbaric  splendour,  sang  and  danced 
before  us.  It  was  a  lovely  evening,  and  we  lolled 
manlike,  gazing,  well-content,  at  the  pretty  creat- 
ure. 

The  night  was  absolutely  still  save  for  the  roar- 
ing of  the  Sloths  in  the  distance. 

By-and-by  Irene  came  to  the  entrance  of  our 
cave,  where  by  the  light  of  her  torch  we  could  see 
326 


BARBARA 

her  exploring  a  shark  that  had  been  harpooned  bj 
David  earlier  in  the  day. 

Everything  conduced  to  repose,  and  a  feeling 
of  gentle  peace  crept  over  us,  from  which  we  were 
roused  by  a  shrill  cry.  It  was  uttered  by  Irene, 
who  came  speeding  to  us,  bearing  certain  articles, 
a  watch,  a  pair  of  boots,  a  newspaper,  which  she 
had  discovered  in  the  interior  of  the  shark.  What 
was  our  surprise  to  find  in  the  newspaper  intelli- 
gence of  the  utmost  importance  to  all  of  us.  It 
was  nothing  less  than  this,  the  birth  of  a  new  baby 
in  London  to  Mary. 

How  strange  a  method  had  Solomon  chosen  of 
sending  us  the  news. 

The  bald  announcement  at  once  plunged  us  into 
a  fever  of  excitement,  and  next  morning  we  set 
sail  for  England.  Soon  we  came  within  sight  of 
the  white  cliffs  of  Albion.  Mary  could  not  sit 
down  for  a  moment,  so  hot  was  she  to  see  her 
child.  She  paced  the  deck  in  uncontrollable  agita- 
tion. 

"So  did  I!"  cried  David,  when  I  had  reached 
this  point  in  the  story. 

S27 


THE   LITTLE    WHITE   BIRD 

On  arriving  at  the  docks  we  immediately  hailed 
a  cab. 

"Never,  David,"  I  said,  "shall  I  forget  your 
mother's  excitement.  She  kept  putting  her  head  out 
of  the  window  and  calling  to  the  cabby  to  go 
quicker,  quicker.  How  he  lashed  his  horse!  At  last 
he  drew  up  at  your  house,  and  then  your  mother, 
springing  out,  flew  up  the  steps  and  beat  with 
her  hands  upon  the  door." 

David  was  quite  carried  away  by  the  reality  of 
it.  "Father  has  the  key !"  he  screamed. 

"He  opened  the  door,"  I  said  grandly,  "and  your 
mother  rushed  in,  and  next  moment  her  Benjamin 
was  in  her  arms." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"Barbara,"  corrected  David. 

"Benjamin,"  said  I  doggedly. 

"Is  that  a  girl's  name  ?^^ 

"No,  it's  a  boy's  name." 

"But  mother  wants  a  girl,"  he  said,  very  much 
shaken. 

"Just  like  her  presumption,"  I  replied  testily. 
"It  is  to  be  a  boy,  David,  and  you  can  tell  her  I 
said  so." 


BARBARA 

He  was  in  a  deplorable  but  most  unselfish  state 
of  mind.  A  boy  would  have  suited  him  quite  well, 
but  he  put  self  aside  altogether  and  was  pertina- 
ciously solicitous  that  Mary  should  be  given  her 
fancy. 

"Barbara,"  he  repeatedly  implored  me. 

"Benjamin,"  I  replied  firmly. 

For  long  I  was  obdurate,  but  the  time  was  sum- 
mer, and  at  last  I  agreed  to  play  him  for  it,  a  two- 
innings  match.  If  he  won  it  was  to  be  a  girl,  and  if 
I  won  it  was  to  be  a  boy. 


XXV 

THE    CRICKET    MATCH 

J.  THINK  there  has  not  been  so  much  on  a  cricket 
match  since  the  day  when  Sir  Horace  Mann  walked 
about  Broad  Ha'penny  agitatedly  cutting  down 
the  daisies  with  his  stick.  And,  be  it  remembered, 
the  heroes  of  Hambledon  played  for  money  and 
renown  only,  while  David  was  champion  of  a  lady. 
A  lady!  May  we  not  prettily  say  of  two  ladies? 
There  were  no  spectators  of  our  contest  except  now 
and  again  some  loiterer  in  the  Gardens  who  little 
thought  what  was  the  stake  for  which  we  played, 
but  cannot  we  conceive  Barbara  standing  at  the 
ropes  and  agitatedly  cutting  down  the  daisies 
every  time  David  missed  the  ball?  I  tell  you,  this 
was  the  historic  match  of  the  Gardens. 

David  wanted  to  play  on  a  pitch  near  the  Round 

Pond  with  which  he  is   familiar,  but  this  would 

have  placed  me  at  a  disadvantage,  so  I  insisted 

on  unaccustomed  ground,  and  we  finally  pitched 

330 


THE    CRICKET    MATCH 

stumps  in  the  Figs.  We  could  not  exactly  pitch 
stumps,  for  they*  are  forbidden  in  the  Gardens,  but 
there  are  trees  here  and  there  which  have  chalk- 
marks  on  them  throughout  the  summer,  and  when 
you  take  up  your  position  with  a  bat  near  one  of 
these  you  have  really  pitched  stumps.  The  tree  we 
selected  is  a  ragged  yew  which  consists  of  a  broken 
trunk  and  one  branch,  and  I  viewed  the  ground 
with  secret  satisfaction,  for  it  falls  slightly  at  about 
four  yards'  distance  from  the  tree,  and  this  exactly 
suits  my  style  of  bowling. 

I  won  the  toss  and  after  examining  the  wicket 
decided  to  take  first  knock.  As  a  rule  when  we  play 
the  wit  at  first  flows  free,  but  on  this  occasion  I 
strode  to  the  crease  in  an  almost  eerie  silence. 
David  had  taken  off  his  blouse  and  rolled  up  his 
shirt-sleeves,  and  his  teeth  were  set,  so  I  knew  he 
would  begin  by  sending  me  down  some  fast  ones. 

His  delivery  is  underarm  and  not  inelegant,  but 
he  sometimes  tries  a  round-arm  ball,  which  I  have 
seen  double  up  the  fielder  at  square  leg.  He  has  not 
a  good  length,  but  he  varies  his  action  bewilder- 
ingly,  and  has  one  especially  teasing  ball  which 
331 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

falls  from  the  branches  just  as  you  have  stepped 
out  of  your  ground  to  look  for  It.  It  was  not,  how- 
ever, with  his  teaser  that  he  bowled  me  that  day. 
I  had  notched  a  three  and  two  singles,  when  he 
sent  me  down  a  medium  to  fast  which  got  me  in 
two  minds  and  I  played  back  to  it  too  late.  Now, 
I  am  seldom  out  on  a  really  grassy  wicket  for  such 
a  meagre  score,  and  as  David  and  I  changed  places 
without  a  word,  there  was  a  cheery  look  on  his  face 
that  I  found  very  galling.  He  ran  in  to  my  second 
ball  and  cut  it  neatly  to  the  on  for  a  single,  and 
off  my  fifth  and  sixth  he  had  two  pretty  drives 
for  three,  both  behind  the  wicket.  This,  however, 
as  I  hoped,  proved  the  undoing  of  him,  for  he 
now  hit  out  confidently  at  everything,  and  with 
his  score  at  nine  I  beat  him  with  my  shooter. 

The  look  was  now  on  my  face. 

I  opened  my  second  innings  by  treating  him 
with  uncommon  respect,  for  I  knew  that  his  little 
arm  soon  tired  if  he  was  unsuccessful,  and  then 
when  he  sent  me  loose  ones  I  banged  him  to  the 
railings.  What  cared  I  though  David's  lips  were 
twitching. 

3S£ 


THE    CRICKET    MATCH 

When  he  ultimately  got  past  my  defence,  with 
a  jumpy  one  which  broke  awkwardly  from  the  off, 
I  had  fetched  twenty-three  so  that  he  needed 
twenty  to  win,  a  longer  hand  than  he  had  ever 
yet  made.  As  I  gave  him  the  bat  he  looked  brave, 
but  something  wet  fell  on  my  hand,  and  then  a 
sudden  fear  seized  me  lest  David  should  not  win. 

At  the  very  outset,  however,  he  seemed  to  master 
the  bowling,  and  soon  fetched  about  ten  runs  in 
a  classic  manner.  Then  I  tossed  him  a  Yorker  which 
he  missed  and  it  went  off  at  a  tangent  as  soon  as 
it  had  reached  the  tree.  "Not  out,"  I  cried  hastily, 
for  the  face  he  turned  to  me  was  terrible. 

Soon  thereafter  another  incident  happened, 
which  I  shall  always  recall  with  pleasure.  He  had 
caught  the  ball  too  high  on  the  bat,  and  I  just 
missed  the  catch.  "Dash  it  all!"  said  I  irritably, 
and  was  about  to  resume  bowling,  when  I  noticed 
that  he  was  unhappy.  He  hesitated,  took  up  his 
position  at  the  wicket,  and  then  came  to  me  man- 
fully. "I  am  a  cad,"  he  said  in  distress,  "for  when 
the  ball  was  in  the  air  I  prayed."  He  had  prayed 
that  I  should  miss  the  catch,  and  as  I  think  I  have 
585 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

already  told  you,  it  is  considered  unfair  in  the 
Gardens  to  pray  for  victory. 

My  splendid  David!  He  has  the  faults  of  other 
little  boys,  but  he  has  a  noble  sense  of  fairness. 
"We  shall  call  it  a  no-ball,  David,"  I  said  gravely. 

I  suppose  the  suspense  of  the  reader  is  now  pain- 
ful, and  therefore  I  shall  say  at  once  that  David 
won  the  match  with  two  lovely  fours,  the  one  over 
my  head  and  the  other  to  leg  all  along  the  ground. 
When  I  came  back  from  fielding  this  last  ball  I 
found  him  embracing  his  bat,  and  to  my  sour  con- 
gratulations he  could  at  first  reply  only  with  hys- 
terical sounds.  But  soon  he  was  pelting  home  to  hit 
mother  with  the  glorious  news. 

And  that  is  how  we  let  Barbara  in. 


S84 


XXVI 

THE    DEDICATION 

JlT  was  only  yesterday  afternoon,  dear  reader,  ex- 
actly three  weeks  after  the  birth  of  Barbara,  that 
I  finished  the  book,  and  even  then  it  was  not  quite 
finished,  for  there  remained  the  dedication,  at  which 
I  set  to  elatedly.  I  think  I  have  never  enjoyed  my- 
self more;  indeed,  it  is  my  opinion  that  I  wrote 
the  book  as  an  excuse  for  writing  the  dedication. 

"Madam"  (I  wrote  wittily),  "I  have  no  desire 
to  exult  over  you,  yet  I  should  show  a  lamentable 
obtuseiiess  to  the  irony  of  things  were  I  not  to 
dedicate  this  little  work  to  you.  For  its  inception 
was  ;^ours,  and  in  your  more  ambitious  days  you 
thought  to  write  the  tale  of  the  little  white  bird 
yourself.  Why  you  so  early  deserted  the  nest  is 
not  for  me  to  inquire.  It  now  appears  that  you  were 
otherwise  occupied.  In  fine,  madam,  you  chose  the 
loWJr  road,  and  contented  yourself  with  obtaining 
lltf  ^itd.  May  I  point  out,  by  presenting  you  with 
335 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

this  dedication,  that  in  the  meantime  I  am  be- 
come the  parent  of  the  Book?  To  you  the  shadow, 
to  me  the  substance.  Trusting  that  you  will  accept 
my  little  offering  in  a  Christian  spirit,  I  am,  dear 
madam,"  etc. 

It  was  heady  work,  for  the  saucy  words  showed 
their  design  plainly  through  the  varnish,  and  I  was 
re-reading  in  an  ecstasy,  when,  without  warning, 
the  door  burst  open  and  a  little  boy  entered,  drag- 
ging in  a  faltering  lady. 

"Father,"  said  David,  "this  is  mother." 
Having  thus  briefly  introduced  us,  he  turned  hie 
attention  to  the  electric  light,  and  switched  it  on 
and  off^  so  rapidly  that,  as  was  very  fitting,  Mary 
and  I  may  be  said  to  have  met  for  the  first  time 
to  the  accompaniment  of  flashes  of  lightning.  I 
think  she  was  arrayed  in  little  blue  feathers,  but  if 
such  a  costume  is  not  seemly,  I  swear  there  were, 
at  least,  little  blue  feathers  in  her  too  coquettish 
cap,  and  that  she  was  carrying  a  muff^  to  match. 
No  part  of  a  woman  Is  more  dangerous  than  her 
muff^,  and  as  muff^s  are  not  worn  in  early  autumn, 
even  by  invalids,  I  saw  in  a  twink,  that  she  had 
336 


THE    DEDICATION 

put  on  all  her  pretty  things  to  wheedle  me.  I  am 
also  of  opinion  that  she  remembered  she  had  worn 
blue  in  the  days  when  I  watched  her  from  the  club- 
window.  Undoubtedly  Mary  is  an  engaging  little 
creature,  though  not  my  style.  She  was  paler  than 
is  her  wont,  and  had  the  touching  look  of  one  whom 
it  would  be  easy  to  break.  I  daresay  this  was  a  trick. 
Her  skirts  made  music  in  my  room,  but  perhaps 
this  was  only  because  no  lady  had  ever  rustled  in 
it  before.  It  was  disquieting  to  me  to  reflect  that 
despite  her  obvious  uneasiness,  she  was  a  very  artful 
woman. 

With  the  quickness  of  David  at  the  switch,  I 
slipped  a  blotting-pad  over  the  dedication,  and 
then,  "Pray  be  seated,"  I  said  coldly,  but  she  re- 
mained standing,  all  in  a  twitter  and  very  much 
afraid  of  me,  and  I  know  that  her  hands  were 
pressed  together  within  the  muff^.  Had  there  been 
any  dignified  means  of  escape,  I  think  we  would 
both  have  taken  it. 

"I  should  not  have  come,"  she  said  nervously, 
and  then  seemed  to  wait  for  some  response,  so  I 
bowed. 

837 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

"I  was  terrified  to  come,  indeed  I  was,"  she  as- 
sured me  with  obvious  sincerity. 

"But  I  have  come,"  she  finished  rather  baldly. 

"It  is  an  epitome,  ma'am,"  said  I,  seeing  my 
chance,  "of  your  whole  life,"  and  with  that  I  put 
her  into  my  elbow-chair. 

She  began  to  talk  of  my  adventures  with  David 
in  the  Gardens,  and  of  some  little  things  I  have 
not  mentioned  here,  that  I  may  have  done  for  her 
when  I  was  in  a  wayward  mood,  and  her  voice  was 
as  soft  as  her  muff.  She  had  also  an  affecting  way 
of  pronouncing  all  her  r's  as  m^s,  just  as  the  fairies 
do.  "And  so,"  she  said,  "as  you  would  not  come  to 
me  to  be  thanked,  I  have  come  to  you  to  thank 
you."  Whereupon  she  thanked  me  most  abomi- 
nably. She  also  slid  one  of  her  hands  out  of  the  muff, 
and  though  she  was  smiling  her  eyes  were  wet. 

"Pooh,  ma'am,"  said  I  in  desperation,  but  I  did 
not  take  her  hand. 

"I  am  not  very  strong  yet,"  she  said  with  low 

cunning.  She  said  this  to  make  me  take  her  hand, 

so  I  took  it,  and  perhaps  I  patted  it  a  little.  Then 

I   walked   brusquely   to   the   window.    The   truth 

338 


THE    DEDICATION 

is,  I  begun  to  think  uncomfortably  of  the  dedica- 
tion. 

I  went  to  the  window  because,  undoubtedly,  it 
would  be  easier  to  address  her  severely  from  behind, 
and  I  wanted  to  say  something  that  would  sting 
her. 

"When  you  have  quite  done,  ma'am,"  I  said,  ' 
after  a  long  pause,  "perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to 
say  a  word." 

I  could  see  the  back  of  her  head  only,  but  I  knew, 
from  David's  face,  that  she  had  given  him  a  quick 
look  which  did  not  imply  that  she  was  stung.  In- 
deed I  felt  now,  as  I  had  felt  before,  that  though 
she  was  agitated  and  in  some  fear  of  me,  she  was 
also  enjoying  herself  considerably. 

In  such  circumstances  I  might  as  well  have  tried 
to  sting  a  sand-bank,  so  I  said,  rather  off  my 
watch,  "If  I  have  done  all  this  for  you,  why  did 
I  do  it?" 

She  made  no  answer  in  words,  but  seemed  to  grow 

taller  in  the  chair,  so  that  I  could  see  her  shoulders, 

and  I  knew  from  this  that  she  was  now  holding 

herself  conceitedly  and  trying  to  look  modest.  "Not 

3S9 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

a  bit  of  it,  ma'am,"  said  I  sharply,  "that  was  not 
the  reason  at  all." 

I  was  pleased  to  see  her  whisk  round,  rather  in- 
dignant at  last. 

"I  never  said  it  was,"  she  retorted  with  spirit, 
''I  never  thought  for  a  moment  that  it  was."  She 
added,  a  trifle  too  late  in  the  story,  "Besides,  I 
don't  know  what  you  are  talking  of." 

I  think  I  must  have  smiled  here,  for  she  turned 
from  me  quickly,  and  became  quite  little  in  the 
chair  again. 

"David,"  said  I  mercilessly,  "did  you  ever  see 
your  mother  blush?" 

"What  is  blush.?" 

"She  goes  a  beautiful  pink  colour." 

David,  who  had  by  this  time  broken  my  con- 
nection with  the  head  office,  crossed  to  his  mother 
expectantly. 

"I  don't,  David,"  she  cried. 

"I  think,"  said  I,  "she  will  do  it  now,"  and  with 

the  instinct  of  a  gentleman  I  looked  away.  Thus  I 

cannot  tell  what  happened,  but  presently  David 

exclaimed  admiringly,  "Oh,  mother,  do  it  again!" 

340 


THE    DEDICATION 

As  she  would  not,  he  stood  on  the  fender  to  see 
in  the  mantel-glass  whether  he  could  do  it  him- 
self, and  then  Marj  turned  a  most  candid  face  on 
me,  in  which  was  maternity  rather  than  reproach. 
Perhaps  no  look  given  by  woman  to  man  affects 
him  quite  so  much.  "You  see,"  she  said  radiantly 
and  with  a  gesture  that  disclosed  herself  to  me,  "I 
can  forgive  even  that.  You  long  ago  earned  the 
right  to  hurt  me  if  you  want  to." 

It  weaned  me  of  all  further  desire  to  rail  at 
Mary,  and  I  felt  an  uncommon  drawing  to  her. 

"And  if  I  did  think  that  for  a  little  while ," 

she  went  on,  with  an  unsteady  smile. 

"Think  what?"  I  asked,  but  without  the  neces- 
sary snap. 

"What  we  were  talking  of,"  she  replied  winc- 
ing, but  forgiving  me  again.  "If  I  once  thought 
that,  it  was  pretty  to  me  while  it  lasted  and  it 
lasted  but  a  little  time.  I  have  long  been  sure 
that  your  kindness  to  me  was  due  to  some  other 
reason." 

"Ma'am,"  said  I  very  honestly,  "I  know  not  what 
was  the  reason.  My  concern  for  you  was  in  the 
34>l 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

beginning  a  very  fragile  and  even  a  selfish  thing, 
yet  not  altogether  selfish,  for  I  think  that  what 
first  stirred  it  was  the  joyous  sway  of  the  little 
nursery  governess  as  she  walked  down  Pall  Mall 
to  meet  her  lover.  It  seemed  such  a  mighty  fine 
thing  to  you  to  be  loved  that  I  thought  you  had 
better  continue  to  be  loved  for  a  little  longer.  And 
perhaps  having  helped  you  once  by  dropping  a 
letter  I  was  charmed  by  the  ease  with  which  you 
could  be  helped,  for  you  must  know  that  I  am  one 
who  has  chosen  the  easy  way  for  more  than  twenty 
years." 

She  shook  her  head  and  smiled.  "On  my  soul," 
I  assured  her,  "I  can  think  of  no  other  reason." 

"A  kind  heart,"  said  she. 

"More  likely  a  whim,"  said  I. 

"Or  another  woman,"  said  she. 

I  was  very  much  taken  aback. 

"More  than  twenty  years  ago,"  she  said  witH 
a  soft  huskiness  in  her  voice,  and  a  tremor  and  a 
sweetness,  as  if  she  did  not  know  that  in  twenty^ 
years  all  love  stories  are  grown  mouldy. 

On  my  honour  as  a  soldier  this  explanation  of 
342 


i 


THE    DEDICATION 

my  early  solicitude  for  Mary  was  one  that  had 
never  struck  me,  but  the  more  I  pondered  it  now — . 
I  raised  her  hand  and  touched  it  with  my  lips,  as  we 
whimsical  old  fellows  do  when  some  gracious  girl 
makes  us  to  hear  the  key  in  the  lock  of  long  ago. 
"Why,  ma'am,"  I  said,  "it  is  a  pretty  notion,  and 
there  may  be  something  in  it.  Let  us  leave  it  at 
that." 

But  there  was  still  that  accursed  dedication,  ly- 
ing, you  remember,  beneath  the  blotting-pad.  I  had 
no  longer  any  desire  to  crush  her  with  it.  I  wished 
that  she  had  succeeded  in  writing  the  book  on  which 
her  longings  had  been  so  set. 

"If  only  you  had  been  less  ambitious,"  I  said, 
much  troubled  that  she  should  be  disappointed  in 
her  heart's  desire. 

"I  wanted  all  the  dear  delicious  things,"  she  ad- 
mitted contritely. 

"It  was  unreasonable,"  I  said  eagerly,  appealing 
to  her  intellect.  "Especially  this  last  thing." 

"Yes,"  she  agreed  frankly,  "I  know."  And  then 
to  my  amazement  she  added  triumphantly,  "But 
I  got  it." 

S4S 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

I  suppose  my  look  admonished  her,  for  she  con- 
tinued apologetically  but  still  as  if  she  really 
thought  hers  had  been  a  romantic  career,  "I  know 
I  have  not  deserved  it,  but  I  got  it." 

"Oh,  ma'am,"  I  cried  reproachfully,  "reflect. 
You  have  not  got  the  great  thing."  I  saw  her 
counting  the  great  things  in  her  mind,  her  won- 
drous husband  and  his  obscure  success,  David,  Bar- 
bara, and  the  other  trifling  contents  of  her  jewel- 
box. 

"I  think  I  have,"  said  she. 

"Come,  madam,"  I  cried  a  little  nettled,  "you 
know  that  there  is  lacking  the  one  thing  you  craved 
for  most  of  all." 

Will  you  believe  me  that  I  had  to  tell  her  what 
it  was?  And  when  I  had  told  her  she  exclaimed 
with  extraordinary  callousness,  "The  book.f^  I  had 
forgotten  all  about  the  book!"  And  then  after  re- 
flection she  added,  "Pooh!"  Had  she  not  added 
Pooh  I  might  have  spared  her,  but  as  it  was  I 
raised  the  blotting-pad  rather  haughtily  and  pre- 
sented her  with  the  sheet  beneath  it. 

"Wkat  Is  this.?"  she  asked. 
344 


THE    DEDICATION 

"Ma'am,"  said  I,  swelling,  "it  is  a  Dedi- 
cation," and  I  walked  majestically  to  the  win- 
dow. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  presently  I  heard  an  un- 
expected sound.  Yet  if  indeed  it  had  been  a  laugh 
she  clipped  it  short,  for  in  almost  the  same  moment 
she  was  looking  large-eyed  at  me  and  tapping  my 
sleeve  impulsively  with  her  fingers,  just  as  David 
does  when  he  suddenly  likes  you. 

"How  characteristic  of  you,"  she  said  at  the 
window. 

"Characteristic,"  I  echoed  uneasily.  "Ha!" 

"And  how  kind." 

"Did  you  say  kind,  ma'am?" 

"But  it  is  I  who  have  the  substance  and  you 
who  have  the  shadow,  as  you  know  very  well,"  said 
she. 

Yes,  I  had  always  known  that  this  was  the  one 
flaw  in  my  dedication,  but  how  could  I  have  ex- 
pected her  to  have  the  wit  to  see  it.?  I  was  very 
depressed. 

"And  there  is  another  mistake,"  said  she. 

"Excuse  me,  ma'am,  but  that  is  the  only  one." 
345 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

"It  was  never  of  my  little  white  bird  I  wanted  to 
write,"  she  said. 

I  looked  politely  incredulous,  and  then  indeed 
she  overwhelmed  me.  "It  was  of  your  little  white 
bird,"  she  said,  "it  was  of  a  little  boy  whose  name 
was  Timothy." 

She  had  a  very  pretty  way  of  saying  Timothy, 
so  David  and  I  went  into  another  room  to  leave 
her  alone  with  the  manuscript  of  this  poor  little 
book,  and  when  we  returned  she  had  the  greatest 
surprise  of  the  day  for  me.  She  was  both  laughing 
and  crying,  which  was  no  surprise,  for  all  of  us 
would  laugh  and  cry  over  a  book  about  such  an 
interesting  subject  as  ourselves,  but  said  she,  "How 
wrong  you  are  in  thinking  this  book  is  about  me 
and  mine,  it  is  really  all  about  Timothy." 

At  first  I  deemed  this  to  be  uncommon  nonsense, 
but  as  I  considered  I  saw  that  she  was  probably 
right  again,  and  I  gazed  crestfallen  at  this  very 
clever  woman. 

"And  so,"  said  she,  clapping  her  hands  after  the 
manner  of  David  when  he  makes  a  great  discovery, 
"it  proves  to  be  my  book  after  all." 
346 


THE    DEDICATION 

"With  all  your  pretty  thoughts  left  out,"  I 
answered,  properly  humbled. 

She  spoke  in  a  lower  voice  as  if  David  must  not 
hear.  "I  had  only  one  pretty  thought  for  the  book," 
she  said,  "I  was  to  give  it  a  happy  ending."  She 
said  this  so  timidly  that  I  was  about  to  melt  to 
her  when  she  added  with  extraordinary  boldness, 
"The  little  white  bird  was  to  bear  an  olive-leaf  in 
its  mouth." 

For  a  long  time  she  talked  to  me  earnestly  of  a 
grand  scheme  on  which  she  had  set  her  heart,  and 
ever  and  anon  she  tapped  on  me  as  if  to  get  ad- 
mittance for  her  ideas.  I  listened  respectfully,  smil- 
ing at  this  young  thing  for  carrying  it  so  motherly 
to  me,  and  in  the  end  I  had  to  remind  her  that  I 
was  forty-seven  years  of  age. 

"It  is  quite  young  for  a  man,"  she  said  brazenly. 

"My  father,"  said  I,  "was  not  forty-seven  when 
he  died,  and  I  remember  thinking  him  an  old 
man." 

"But  you  don't  think  so  now,  do  you.^"  she  per- 
sisted, "you  feel  young  occasionally,  don't  you? 
Sometimes  when  you  are  playing  with  David  in 
347 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    BIRD 

the  Gardens  your  youth  comes  swinging  back,  does 
it  not?" 

"Mary  A ,"  I  cried,  grown  afraid  of  the 

woman,  "I  forbid  you  to  make  any  more  discover- 
ies to-day." 

But  still  she  hugged  her  scheme,  which  I 
doubt  not  was  what  had  brought  her  to  my  rooms. 
"They  are  very  dear  women,"  said  she  coaxingly. 

"I  am  sure,"  I  said,  "they  must  be  dear  women 
if  they  are  friends  of  yours." 

"They  are  not  exactly  young,"  she  faltered, 
"and  perhaps  they  are  not  very  pretty " 

But  she  had  been  reading  so  recently  about  the 
darling  of  my  youth  that  she  halted  abashed  at 
last,  feeling,  I  apprehend,  a  stop  in  her  mind 
against  proposing  this  thing  to  me,  who,  in  those 
presumptuous  days,  had  thought  to  be  content  with 
nothing  less  than  the  loveliest  lady  in  all  the  land. 

My  thoughts  had  reverted  also,  and  for  the  last 
time  my  eyes  saw  the  little  hut  through  the  pine- 
wood  haze.  I  met  Mary  there,  and  we  came  back 
to  the  present  together. 

I  have  already  told  you,  reader,  that  this  con- 
348 


THE    DEDICATION 

▼ersation  took  place  no  longer  ago  than  -yester-* 
day. 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  I  said,  trying  to  put  a  brave 
face  on  it^  "I  will  come  to  your  tea-parties,  and  we 
shall  see  what  we  shall  see." 

It  was  really  all  she  had  asked  for,  but  now  that 
she  had  got  what  she  wanted  of  me  the  foolish  soul's 
eyes  became  wet,  she  knew  so  well  that  the  youthful 
romances  are  the  best. 

It  was  now  my  turn  to  comfort  her.  "In  twenty 
years,"  I  said,  smiling  at  her  tears,  "a  man  grows 
humble,  Mary.  I  have  stored  within  me  a  great 
fund  of  affection,  with  nobody  to  give  it  to,  and  I 
swear  to  you,  on  the  word  of  a  soldier,  that  if  there 
is  one  of  those  ladies  who  can  be  got  to  care  for  me 
I  shall  be  very  proud."  Despite  her  semblance  of 
delight  I  knew  that  she  was  wondering  at  me,  and 
I  wondered  at  myself,  but  it  was  true. 

THE    END 


349 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN     INITIAL     FINE     OF     25     CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


JUN     g    1933 
AUG    1    1933 

"  ■/;:    '-  ' 

NOV    3   1933 

nm  rsfvm 

/ 

NOV  29  1933 


»fC   J3 


INTER-LIBRARY 
LOAN 

AUG  5     1977 


932 


LD  21-5' 


"Ill 


i^\_^-  "#     -_:^^       '"^       i 


L 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBftS^RY 


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